#strange trails unwind

[eros-aster-photos]

last known images of [illegible] before they went missing on april 8, [illegible]

two months after it happened, I'm finally posting pictures from my meet me in the woods inspired photoshoot! this song's vibes are Impeccable and hopefully I managed to capture them well!

[bananasofthorns]

She lives to see the sun and feel the wind and drink the rain - Lord Huron, "La Belle Fleur Sauvage"

[click images for better quality! if you use any, please give credit <3]

[vibingandsimping]

Randomly assorted headcanons (sfw+nsfw) for randomly assorted characters… pt. 2

I have yet to make a pinned post with some sort of navigation/rules guide but I will state in all my posts. Asks and Submissions are always open and if you have trouble with it comment!

Not proofread cause that’s for the weak 🥰

Characters involved: Gale, Halsin, Karlach

Tags/Forewarnings: AFAB + AMAB genitalia mentions, use of magic to enhance sex, size differences, breeding, general worshipping, oral (receiving + giving), temperature play, fingering, penetration.

Gale

Y’all love pathetic men… I support. Anyways… Tell me i’m wrong but he’d love to spoil you. We already know he practically worships the ground you walk on. You entered his life full of strife and paved a way for him to have a more hopeful future. His eyes are practically hearts when he gazes upon you. As such, he’d love to buy you and craft you things when he can. He’d buy you a gorgeous dress/vest/suit and enchant it to your liking. It feels, quite literally, like magic when you wear it. He presses kisses to your ear as he sings about how downright breathtaking you are. You hate the fact that the words make a giggle bubble in your chest.

He holds you at any opportunity he gets. In truth, he cannot fathom that you two are lovers. He’s been with a goddess before but even she did not compare to you. His pinky grazes yours as you two stand near eachother. When someone’s back turns, he presses kisses onto your cheek until you forcibly push him away. Which he always uses his puppy eyes as a retaliation to show his hate. Curse those big brown eyes. If you’d let him, he’d be more intimate without being inherently sexual. His hands glide along your skin as he helps you bathe in a nearby river or lake. Occasionally he whispers about how perfect you are to him, inside and out.

Personally, this man is the male version of a wine aunt. Once he feels that he can unwind in the camp without facing repercussions, he likes to get delightfully tipsy. Enough that his skin warms and his tongue loosens. He laughs along with the companions and makes chatter in the quiet camp. If you happen to grace him with your presence, he sings out your name and beckons you forth. To his surprise, you settle next to him on the bedroll and he wraps an arm around your waist. Squeezing you tight as he presses his nose against the pulse in your neck. He murmurs almost incoherently but you can tell from the tone of his voice it was sweet nothings.

When the camp is silent and everyone is asleep, he enjoys the thrill of seeking you out. He finds you in your bedroll and gently shakes you awake, claiming he desires you and cannot sleep. If you are so kind to spare your sleep and indulge him, he promises he’ll make it worth your time. You two trail off to somewhere more secluded before he grasps you by the waist and presses his lips onto yours. His lips aren’t too rough against yours but pleasantly warm. His fingers dance along your skin, trailing the expanse of your stomach. Suddenly, he’s whispering against your lips. You can’t tell if he’s worked you up properly or if he’s genuinely speaking nonsense. Then, a sudden and intense shiver runs through your body. He smirks at you slightly and you cannot help the excitement in your veins.

You’d nearly forgotten about the strange shiver that encompassed your body until you were on your knees in front of him. His expression held a soft intimacy yet a deep desire. He was anything but pure… just so willing for your attention and love. His cock would throb before you in a silent plead for touch. You wrap your hand around the base before wrapping your lips around the tip. He gasps softly at the sensation whilst your eyes widened. As you touched him, there was a tingle in your own loins. It was shockingly intense and you mentally cursed this man for the effect he had on you. Steeling yourself, you began to work on his shaft. Suckling, licking, stroking… all while breathy gasps and whimpers escaped his chest. The tingle in your body didn’t dissipate- no, it only grew stronger. That’s when you gazed up at him in realization. His gaze was knowing and a little dark. The bastard charmed you… so that all the pleasure he experienced you’d experience and vice-versa. So that you two were properly intermingled for all the pleasure indulged that night.

He takes a certain pleasure in finding the spots on your body that make you shake and moan. Especially those that aren’t explicitly between your thighs. If he finds a spot on your neck, or thighs, or chest that makes you whimper and grasp his hair? He’s showering it with all his attention and love until it’s practically numb. His beard tickles your skin and causes you to occasionally squirm from the sensation. He wants you as turned on and into him as he is you. You can feel his erection against your thigh as he covers your neck in hickeys. His hips occasionally grinding for some sort of friction as he focused on you. If your hand trails down to his bulge, he grabs it swiftly and holds it beside your head. His lips are swollen and wet from his kisses and his pupils are blown wide. “Not yet, please, I’m not done. Not ready for this to be over yet…” He whines and gazes at you with a certain twinkle. Who are you to tell him no? Or, maybe that’s what you want to see?

Halsin

He adores the size difference you two have. He towers over nearly everybody he knows and gotten used to being large. Honestly, it was kind of a nuisance at times. He envied others who could bed anyone without the worry of repercussions. Yet, that is a topic for discussion later down this list. Point said, he loves the feeling you provide in his chest. A protective instinct overwhelms him. No matter how soft, rugged, muscular or chubby you are. He wants to hold you and ensure you’ll be safe. The look in his eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to even reach him bending over for a kiss shows the thrill he finds in it. It’s even better when you two are cuddling and you can rest your body so comfortably ontop of his. He’ll encapsulate his arms around your form and keep you close, enjoying the thrum of your heart as you sleep.

He’d teach you how to carve wood, if you’d like. It was one of his hobbies and for you to show interest in it only reminds him of how fine a specimen you are. He’s careful as he teaches you, watchful eyes constantly glancing and staring over your shoulder as your thumbs turn the wood and the knife makes shavings. His hands wrap around yours and guide you when you struggle or use improper technique. His chest slotted against your back as he hums softly, paying no mind to how flustered you’d get. When you finish your first lesson, you both show off the sculptures you made. He’s thoroughly impressed and praises whatever you decided to carve. Later, you find it on a table in his tent. The sight makes your chest tighten and heart soar. He loves you so utterly deeply.

He craves you so desperately it is almost amusing. Your touch, your voice, your presence. He doesn’t outwardly express it but there’s a certain air around him when you approach. His gaze softens as his chest puffs and he watches you expectantly. Despite all the lovers he’s taken in his years, you’d swear he looks like he’s fallen in love for the first time. He’s nearly whipped by you. No-one has seemed so enraptured by you before. Each word you speak he’s hung unto, he watches all your movements so closely. Halsin makes sure to wrap you tightly in his hugs. Both to show you that he loves all of you and to remind you of the fact he wishes to protect you. He knows his boundaries and doesn’t follow you like a lost puppy… but when you seek him of your own accord he’s utterly thrilled.

This man is a breeder. Don’t argue with me on it. He seeks all the thrills and pleasures of nature. Regardless of if you can or cannot get pregnant, he stuffs you so full that in your haze you are sure you’ll carry his kid. He tries so hard to be gentle with you and to some degree he is. His hands trail your skin softly like you were fine china. Though, he allows himself the pleasure of gripping your curves, dips and muscles. While he holds you so gently, you cannot say the same for where he’s pushing his length into. It’s vigorous- almost mind-numbing. He groans into your ear shamelessly and with the knowledge you find it attractive. If you’d let him, he’d give into his desires and fill you til he was sure he had nothing else left to give. He’d pick you up after and bathe you. Washing you of the forest dirt and sweat accumulated on your skin. All while whispering about how he adores you and you’ve done so well for him.

We all know he’s a munch/dick eater. It’s literally confirmed in his sex scene that he immediately goes down on you… and for that I will write for.

AFAB. He’ll hook a thigh over his shoulder and press his nose against the bump of your cunt. His tongue lavishes your clit in licks and suckles as his gaze remains heady on yours. If you can even look at him, that is. One hand trails on the leg you’re standing on before teasing your parted lips. He gathers your wetness and pushes a singular finger inside. He watches as your body tenses and relaxes from his ministrations. His tongue does not stop it’s assault. Then it’s two fingers, hooking and searching for the spot that he knows will make you abandon previous care. Once he finds it, you’re crying out to the woods. His large fingers practically abuse your walls as he sucks your clit like a madman. You began to whimper and shake in his hold. His strength became apparent when he pushes your hips against the tree to keep you still. To show that you cannot escape his pleasure and act of love. Pride swells in his chest and he keeps going until you’re shuddering in his hold. The coil in your belly snapping as hands fly down to grasp his hair, hips rocking against his face.

AMAB. There’s a smirk that engraves his face when he sees exactly how hard you’d gotten for him. His hands wrap around your thighs as he trails kisses along the skin of your stomach. Then, as soon as you open your mouth to protest, a kiss is placed on the tip. You tense and he begins to show your length some attention. One hand abandons your thigh to favor your sack, gently fondling as his kitten licks and kisses turn into something more intense. Lips wrapping around the head before taking you in one gulp. Your head throws back and your thighs quiver. Either he had tons of experience or you were simply smaller in comparison and he could do it with ease. Either way, the warmth of his throat is nearly overwhelming to your senses. He looks up between your legs when he could, bobbing his head as you began to melt into the pleasure. His nails gently scratched the skin of your thigh while his other continued it’s undivided attention to the sensitive skin of your balls. He continues like this, humming and suctioning around your cock until you either spill down his throat or pull him off of you. Either way, he has a cocky smile on his face as he wipes spit and precum from his lips.

Karlach

She is a very passionate woman. She burns bright, literally and metaphorically, and is a flame that will forever burn by your side. She is especially passionate about her companions and most importantly you. She supports you in nearly every decision you make and if she doesn’t agree, she tries to understand anyways. She’s loud and speaks so highly of you to those she meets. Almost like a mother showing off her kids accomplishments in life. She’d likely be such a good mother if she ever had that opportunity. Until you fix her mechanical heart she supports you with just words and actions. As much as she craves to pull you into her grasp or press her lips on yours, she’s a ticking bomb and is capable of hurting those. When you do fix it? She can barely keep her hands and lips off you. Ten years of forced abstinence nearly drove her MAD. While she doesn’t outright burn you, she’s so, so warm.

She loves jamming out. Dancing, playing an instrument, singing… it gives her an excuse to release her pent up energy. Bard or not, she gives you those puppy eyes and nearly begs you to join her. She’ll dance with you and wrap her arms around your waist or hold your hand as you two dip and twirl. Her laugh is an angelic sound and any reservations you held melted away in her intense heat and passion. She had a way of lighting the room up and bringing out the best in those around her. You admired her for it. She eventually slows the rhythm between you two and smiles against your skin (hunched over or not). She whispers against you, light and full of emotion. “You have no idea how thankful I am to have met you. I feel complete.” The breath you take is shaky as her words fill you with such fullness. This tiefling had wormed her way into your heart like the tadpole your mind. Except, this was a worm you wished to keep. You both would do anything for each other and you both knew it.

She absolutely seethes when anyone does you dirty. The girl is quite literally growling when someone hurts you emotionally or physically. Even a wrong look can have her hackles raising and her all pissed. You sometimes have to sit her down and remind her that you’re fine. She assures you’re safe and you appreciate it. After losing so much in her life, the control of her own body and mind, she cannot imagine losing you. Small threats alarm her and she feels guilty that she cannot contain her emotions. This time you assured her that you weren’t going anywhere because she was passionate and hot-headed. You two had your own issues… and she wants nothing more than to work through them together and be the biggest supporters for each other. She pulls you into a bear hug afterwards, nuzzling against your jaw as her horn tangles in your hair. She plants kisses along the skin til you’re laughing and the air is less tense between you two.

As much as she so UTTERLY wishes to touch you, she’s so touch deprived. You know that she needs the attention after she’s had her heart repaired. You lay her down on the ground and trail kisses from her lips down to her throat and to her chest. She watches you with an excitement. It appears as if she was ready to jump out of her skin from the pure joy of being able to enjoy the sensations of flesh once more. You pay extra attention to her breasts and nipples before continuing further down to her navel. At this point, she’s squirming and whimpering desperately. “Come on, babe. Don’t tease me. I need you- so badly..” Her tone was pathetic if anything. There was no true fight or bite in her words. She liked giving her submission to you for once, letting her mind shut down. You wished nothing more than to give her what she deserved after all this time.

Once you finally reach further south, your hands slot around her hips and hold them down as you plant a few kisses against the inner of her thigh. All the teasing between you two was so worth it when you hear the wanton moan escape her lips as your tongue finally met her most sensitive parts. The heat of her cunt was intense- just like the rest of her. It was nearly overwhelming… almost burning your tongue. Yet, you ached for that warmth. To finally enjoy her moans and provide her with such pleasure. She has claws in your hair, tugging and tickling your scalp. One hand on her chest as you begin a rhythm with your tongue against her clit. Once she was beginning to properly fall apart against your mouth, you released a hand from her hip and trailed betwixt her lower lips. Your fingers sought her warmth and was pleasantly surprised with how she burned even hotter inside. Truly a creature of the hottest hells. Yet, it didn’t quite burn you… certainly was a different sensation compared to the crisp air around you. You know that she’ll return this pleasure tenfold to you. It’s her nature… and you couldn’t wait til you two were properly intertwined later in the night.

[seaspringangel]

the taste of you — choso kamo

your loving husband choso would do anything to make your pregnancy easier - and yes, that does include drinking your breast milk.

pairing: choso x fem!reader

warnings: lactation kink ✦ pregnant reader ✦ intimacy during pregnancy ✦ reader is referred to as “beautiful” ✦ wc: 1.3k

a/n: hello, and happy halloween! this is my prompt for @ficsforgaza kinktober event! i am very happy to have been chosen to participate! here is the ffg kinktober masterlist, where there is so many wonderful stories i recommend y’all to read :) i hope you enjoy!!!!!

A moan, high and wanton, tore through the darkness of the house.

Even in the throes of sleep, Choso still heard you and felt his heart skip a beat at the golden bell sound of your pleasure spilling like a river from your lips, a pretty song. It was instinct for him, to wake up and automatically reach out for you, wanting to feel your warmth and find solace in the gentle swell of your growing baby bump under his fingers.

What Choso saw was not only surprising but also concerning; you were writhing, your body enwrapped in the silver of the moonlight. As you abruptly sat up, jolting awake, he placed one hand on the baby bump and slid the other underneath your shirt, clinging to you with sweat.

Choso grumbles in concern. “Hm? Love, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” His voice was dark and gravelly, still crackling with sleep - creating an effect that, unbeknownst to him at the moment, made you flush and rub your legs together, a tender fire kindling in your belly. 

And made your breasts feel…strangely heavy.

“I’m fine,” you say softly. Joining his hand rubbing your bump, you smile to reassure him. “I guess this little one is making me extra sensitive these days”

Choso returned your smile before leaning down to pepper some feather-light kisses on your belly. “You gotta give mommy some rest now, little guy.” His voice against your stomach made you feel warm all over, the pleasant grit of it wrapping snug around you like a blanket.

Choso pulled you close to him, resting a chin on your shoulder, and brushed strands of hair out of your face still shining with sweat. He traced comforting, circular patterns on your lower back, but it felt as if the pads of his fingertips left behind a trail of sparks on your skin, and another moan tumbled from your lips. 

Choso paused for a moment before a sheepish smile curled on his lips. “Are…are you sure? You don’t look fine. And you feel hot.’’

He nuzzled into you, sweet and tender, much like a cat seeking affectation, and God, you felt your nipples harden with pleasure, his sleep-laden voice and soft caresses sinking hot and heavy like a star to the core of you and you pressed your legs tighter and tighter and tighter together. 

“My breasts,” you mumbled, “they feel kinda sensitive.” Your nipples brushing against the fabric of your t-shirt sent shudders down your spine, and in the carnal part of your brain festering with hormones, you wanted your husband’s large hands to be the one covering them instead.

Choso’s brows furrowed in concern, eyes sharpening with focus and roving over your body, looking for what he could mend. “You’re hurting?” 

You shook your head, trying to ground yourself. It was difficult to put into words how your strange body feels now, carrying a baby, feeling as if the slightest brush of Choso’s flesh on yours could have stars shooting across your vision and your cunt throbbing with arousal. “No, no, they just feel…heavy? And sore.” 

Your husband’s hand on your back moved upwards before settling warm and secure on the underside of your breast, aching with need. In the dark, Choso smiled, the light of his smile brightening the room around you both. “...Can I massage them?”

You smile at the shyness in his voice. “I would love that.” 

Flicking the bedside lamp on, Choso helps you slip off your sweat-drenched shirt, and for a couple of minutes, you let yourself unwind under your husband’s touch, melting at his measured fingers finding their place at the base of your breast, caresses light as a petal fluttering across your skin but still loving and purposeful. You felt content.

And…wet. 

Very, very wet. Not just between your thighs but at your nipples, something hot and sticky and sliding down your body like rain drops and you glance down -

“Oh, Choso!” you gasp, watching as little cloudy white droplets weep from your nipples. Choso startled, eyes wide with worry…until he looked down too, and his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, almost subconsciously.

Even though you expected to lactate eventually, you didn't expect it to be like this - with white rivers cutting a path down your body, collecting at the crest of your thighs. You went through phases of surprise and embarrassment and irritation at the mess you made, unintentional or not.

“I’m sorry,” you sputter out, feeling like the heat of the wild breast milk wetting your body, “I-l’ll get a towel - “

“It’s beautiful,” Choso breathed, and you paused. Choso watched the milk lather your chest like soft snow gathering on the swell of a lovely hill. You saw the light dusting of pink on his cheeks as he pulled you closer.

There was a heat in his dark eyes that made them glow like black gems as he stared at you. “You’re beautiful.”

His fingers massaging your breasts were still gentle yet firm, but they sought out a new target: one of your sensitive nipples, taking one between forefinger and thumb and rolling it.

You whimper, watching as more of your milk leaks out, dusting his fingers in white. Choso chuckled. “Look at you,” he cooed, “so sweet and sensitive, all for me.”

You didn’t understand it, but just seeing droplets of your breast milk was sending Choso into a spiral; how he wanted to lick a reverent path from your weeping valley of breasts to your navel to your cunt, to have the taste of you rich and sweet on his taste buds, a precious reminder of the beauty your body is creating for the child growing in your stomach.

He couldn’t help himself; his tongue lolled out of his mouth, licking up all the milk that has already formed. You moaned softly, watching Choso kiss your tender breast before latching onto one nipple and sucking it deep into his mouth.

Shivers raced up your spine and you arched your back, pushing more of your breast into Choso’s mouth. Your husband sucking your nipples was something you were used to, but having him suck them with the intent for milk to coat his tongue was an entirely new, exciting experience that had you unraveling, undone by the powerful passion of your love’s mouth.

You could feel the pressure mounting up again, as Choso sucked harder, groaning as he greedily drank whatever milk he could get. He brings his other hand up to play with your other nipple, pinching and rolling it to get more milk flowing. All you could do was cry out and moan, tangling your own hands into his hair.

To Choso, you were the sweetest thing to ever exist - the sweetest thing that could ever grace his tongue. 

He could drink from you forever if you were gracious enough to bless him with the privilege. When Choso drank your milk from the altar of your breasts, it was the closest thing to heaven for him, the bliss of your pleasure coating his mouth and sliding a glowing path down his throat to his stomach. Nothing else mattered at that moment, save for the warmth of your nipple throbbing against his lips with love, your eager fingers twisting among the strands of his hair as you showered him praises, ever so needy and whiny and desperate for him him him, only him.

Cloudy droplets dripped down Choso’s chin once he let your nipple go with a resounding, wet pop, trails of saliva and breast milk connecting his cherry red swollen lips to your tender nipple like wispy white ribbons.

“You always taste so sweet,” Choso murmured, “so sweet and perfect.” As if to prove his point, he surged upwards to kiss your panting lips.

The taste of your milk was saccharine and cloying, and as you moaned into the kiss, one of Choso’s hands caressed over your baby bump and your thighs, until he reached your soaked panties.

“But I know that you taste just as sweet down here too.”

tags: @houseofsolisoccasum

[swappingforgood]

Missing it already Part 1

After another long day at the office, I had home and dropped my suitcase in its normal spot before being greeted by my personal cleaner, Larry. He is a great guy; don’t get me wrong. Large physique and has that jolly fat guy personality. He always does a great job, but sometimes he talks to me too much and even stares at me when he thinks I’m not looking at him. He isn’t my type at all. At my age, I prefer men who are similar in build and wealth class, and even the occasional twink, but honestly, nothing has sparked my desire. Work has been so draining, and I feel lost in life. I have a great position, and I make a ton of money, and not to mention I consider myself very attractive. Just look at me.

I have guys like Larry drooling over me. After dinner, I talk to Larry, and he begins to speak, which normally would bore me, but this time it was interesting. "So, Mr. Mauro, I couldn’t help but notice you've been kind of down lately?” The large man says as he sits across from me while wearing a bright multi-striped shirt showing off his fat belly. “Well, to be honest, Larry. I just feel like life hasn’t been fun anymore. I want a change. I want to do something new—experience something.” My words trail off as I look away from him as I make a somber face. Larry gets up and gives me a hug and pulls out a necklace and tells me to touch it. "Okay, boss, this is going to sound crazy, but this new necklace I bought will let you experience something new!” He said as he held one end of the strange locket and I held the other. Suddenly I feel like something in my body is being pulled out as I look at Larry, whose mouth is open wide just like mine. I feel a strange pull as my vision goes dark before opening my eyes again. However, this time I am looking at my reflection. No, this can’t be. There is no mirror in the kitchen. I reach out and touch my face but notice my arms are no longer wrapped in a suit but instead a multi-striped shirt. I look down as I see a fat belly and catch my reflection and realize, I’m Larry. I have no time to process as I see my former body stand up and do a quick spin before speaking. “Oh wow, boss, I’m inside your body and your in mine. The sketchy amulet worked!” I stood up and looked down at my body, touching my belly. “WOW, I'm really inside Larry. Larry, why would you do this?” I asked, still getting used to hearing Larry’s voice instead of mine. “Well… You wanted to experience something new, so I figured why not swap for a couple of days? Don’t worry, we will switch back in a week. That’s when the amulet will be recharged.” I was understandably nervous, but I realize this was my chance to unwind, so after setting a few ground rules, I leave my mansion to head to Larry’s apartment. His apartment is clean and simple-looking, and I walk past a mirror, and seeing my large frame turns me on. I figured since I have a week, why not indulge? I lower my pants to see my massive fat legs and underwear that is hiding my fat pad. I pull it down and moan from the sensation as I begin to stroke my new cock and moan out loud. “Look at me, I’m so fat. I’m in Larry’s body. I love it!” I was so in bliss and carried away that I came all over the mirror. 

[thebunnednun]

You're my Coffee

Shouta Aizawa x Pro hero/Teacher! Reader

Summary:

After a distressing call from a Japanese hospital, you learn your friend Nemuri Kayama (Midnight) has briefly awoken from her coma and is desperately screaming for you.

She makes a final request: take care of her students if she doesn't survive.

So you pack your bags and move to Japan, only to find the students at U.A. High School traumatized by the Hero War. Aizawa is struggling to help them, and Nezu is overwhelmed trying to find therapists while managing international scrutiny over the students' involvement in the war. Aizawa panics when Nezu informs him of your arrival, as your hero profile is so blank he can't find decent information about you, despite your international headlines.

Your start is rocky, worsened by your initial deception of pretending to be his new student. The students are unsure what to make of you, but they’re drawn to their new pretty art teacher and soon so is their handsome grump of a teacher.

With the media down his neck, Nezu offers you a deal: Get the kids to seek therapy, you to graduate with your psychology doctorate. Aizawa’s catch: If you fail or harm them, you walk away from being a therapist and hero altogether.

All while facing your own trauma, and the affections of those strange cats...

Tw: PTSD and mentions of violence and mental distress.

Song: SZA - Good Days

----------------------Chapter 1: Who are you?------------------------

The day had been a rare opportunity for the new Class 2-A to unwind and explore the vibrant shopping district surrounding U.A. Academy. With a Saturday all to themselves, students scattered across the mall, relishing the chance to indulge in personal interests and bond outside the confines of their classrooms.

In the heart of the bustling mall, the comic store beckoned with its colorful displays and eager customers. The windows were adorned with colorful posters of heroes in dynamic poses, and the entrance was flanked by life-sized statues of popular heroes. The air inside was thick with the scent of new books and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead.

Izuku Midoriya, his face lit up with joy, led a group consisting of Ochaco Uraraka, Tsuyu Asui, Tenya Iida, Shoto Todoroki, and himself towards the store's entrance. They were drawn by the promise of hero memorabilia and the back to school discounted prices plastered all over the building.

Hey, kids gotta ball on a budget!

As they entered, the store buzzed with energy. Fans of all ages flipped through graphic novels, their fingers brushing the glossy pages, while others scrutinized shelves stocked with hero-themed merchandise—action figures, posters, and keychains, all meticulously arranged to catch the eye. The walls were lined with shelves, each packed to the brim with comics, some new, others worn and well-loved. A few children darted between the aisles, their laughter mingling with the murmur of conversations.

Izuku gravitated towards the section dedicated toToshinori, his eyes wide and scanning for any rare collectibles he might have missed. The rows of action figures stood proudly, their detailed designs catching the overhead light. Posters of All Might in his prime covered the walls, Izuku's gaze lingered on each one, and his eyes softened.

"Hey, Izuku, check this out!" Ochaco's voice rang out, pulling him from his reverie. She held up a keychain featuring a miniature All Might in his signature hero pose, the small figure almost glowing in her hand. "Isn't this adorable?" She smiled brightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with joy.

Izuku's face brightened, his eyes widening as he stepped closer to examine the keychain. "That's awesome, Ochaco! I wonder if they have any figurines or posters I haven't seen before." He began to peruse the shelves again, his fingers trailing lightly over the edges of the boxes as he searched for something new. His gaze darted from one item to another, his excitement slowly giving way to disappointment as he realized there were no new All Might items to add to his collection.

Izuku sighed softly, the sound almost lost in the ambient noise of the store. His rewards points burned a hole in his pocket, the card resting in his hand as he glanced around the store, hoping for a hidden gem.

The sweet old lady store clerk noticed his dilemma and smiled warmly at him. "Can't find what you're looking for, young man?" She had allowed the Izu-crew to browse before offering her assistance. 

Izuku shook his head, feeling a bit crestfallen. "Not this time, Mrs. Sakamaki. All Might stuff tends to sell out quickly." He shuffled slightly, one hand slipping into his pocket as he spoke, the other still clutching the rewards card.

Mrs. Sakamaki, was a sweet old lady store clerk with a kind smile and gentle demeanor. Her silver hair was neatly pinned back, and she wore a cozy cardigan that seemed to match the warmth in her eyes. 

Mrs. Sakamaki's eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Well, how about considering something new? Have you heard about Charge Bomb? She's quite the rising star, you know." She leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret, her voice full of enthusiasm.

Izuku's head tilted slightly, curiosity evident in his tone, and interest piqued, " Charge Bomb? "

Mrs. Sakamaki nodded enthusiastically, her smile widening as she reached behind the counter. With a practiced hand, she retrieved a medium-sized figurine of Charge Bomb, complete with her signature explosive star emblem and perching pose. 

The figure was expertly crafted, capturing the details of the hero’s ebony mask and cloak. "She's gaining quite a fanbase lately. People say she's as electrifying as her powers!"

Izuku hesitated for a moment, his eyes tracing the details of the figurine in his hand. The weight of it was reassuring, and he could feel the craftsmanship in every groove. "I've heard a bit about her. She seems really strong." He turned the figure over, examining it closely, the gears in his mind turning as he considered adding it to his collection.

Ochaco teased him lightly, nudging Izuku with a playful grin. "Come on, Izuku. Even if All Might isn't here, you can expand your horizons a bit!"

Tsuyu ribbited in agreement, her lips quirking up in a small smile. "Ribbit. Midoriya, you might discover a new hero to admire." Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she watched Izuku's inner debate unfold.

Izuku chuckled sheepishly, feeling the support of his friends. "Alright, alright. Charge Bomb it is. Thank you, ma'am." He offered Mrs. Sakamaki a grateful smile as he handed over his rewards card, the anticipation building within him as he added the figurine to his growing collection.

"This Charge Bomb figure is incredible," Izuku exclaimed, his eyes wide as he examined the action figure in his hands. He was doing that mumbling thing and they were happy to see him geek over something other than All Might. It was good to see him like this. 

He needed this. 

"Yeah, but she seems so distant, like she's always avoiding questions in her interviews," Ochaco remarked, her gaze shifting to a nearby display of hero-themed posters. She reached out to adjust one that had slipped slightly out of place, her fingers brushing the paper lightly.

"She's probably just focused on hero work," Shoto chimed in quietly, his eyes scanning the shelves with detached interest. He reached out to pick up a comic, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. "I've seen her in action in some civilian videos. She doesn't waste time or energy." He placed the comic back, his expression thoughtful.

Tsuyu, standing beside Shoto, nodded in agreement. "Ribbit. Maybe she prefers a direct approach, focusing on getting the job done without unnecessary risks." She leaned over to pick up a comic featuring a leapfrog character, holding it up with a teasing smile before lightly punching Shoto in the arm for showing it to her.

Iida, who had been diligently scanning through hero strategy books, joined the conversation with his trademark earnestness. "Indeed. Charge Bomb's reputation stems from her precise tactics and adherence to hero regulations. She's a model of efficiency." His posture was as rigid as ever, but there was a spark of admiration in his eyes.

Ochaco nodded knowingly, a small smile playing on her lips. "That's part of her appeal. Charge Bomb is known for her no-nonsense attitude and her skill in taking down villains efficiently. But when it comes to interviews, she's a bit elusive. Always dodging personal questions with a touch of humor. I would love to get away with that! Those interview questions always make me so nervous." She glanced over at Izuku, her expression softening as she saw the thoughtful look on his face.

Izuku's brows furrowed slightly, a mixture of disappointment and fascination crossing his features. "It's amazing how she manages to stay mysterious even with all the attention she's getting." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still holding the Charge Bomb figurine as he contemplated the enigma that was this new hero.

Tsuyu, always the voice of reason, chimed in to lighten the mood. "Maybe she just wants to keep her private life private. It adds to her mystique, kero. Don't you think?" She tilted her head slightly, her wide eyes filled with understanding.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Izuku agreed with a small smile, his shoulders relaxing as he let go of his earlier disappointment. ‘ She's definitely someone I want to learn more about.’ He glanced around at his friends, grateful for their perspectives.

Their conversation was interrupted by Iida, who had found a stack of hero biographies nearby. He straightened up, holding one out to Izuku with a determined look. "Have any of you seen this? It's a comprehensive guide on hero rankings and strategies. We should study this for our next training session." His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon the group was huddled around the book, discussing its contents with renewed excitement.

Meanwhile, nearby, Eijiro Kirishima trailed after Katsuki Bakugo through the bustling mall, his grin wide and infectious. The air was thick with the mingled scents of food and perfume, and the cacophony of shoppers' chatter created a lively atmosphere. Kirishima's energy was palpable as he practically bounced on his heels, his excitement barely contained.

"C'mon, bro, let's hurry up! I wanna check out those romance novels you were talking about," Kirishima urged, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. His red hair caught the overhead lights, giving it an almost fiery glow, and his broad smile seemed to brighten the entire aisle.

Bakugo grunted in response, his usual scowl softened slightly by Kirishima's persistent cheer. He had a reputation to maintain, but Kirishima's unwavering smile always managed to crack through his tough exterior.

The corners of his mouth twitched as if resisting a smile, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. They navigated through the maze of aisles, their footsteps echoing against the polished tiles. The aisles were lined with displays of books and manga, with colorful covers vying for attention. Bakugo’s eyes darted toward a stand of novels, his expression turning contemplative as he contemplated a particular title.

Nearby, Mina and Aoyama were in their element, quoting vines and hunting for discounted products, their vibrant personalities on full display. Mina's laughter rang out as she twisted open a bottle of lotion, the fruity scent wafting into the air. 

Her pink skin seemed to shimmer under the store's lights, matching the lively energy she exuded. Aoyama, ever the picture of elegance, carefully examined a row of lip glosses, each one sparkling under the lights like miniature jewels. He held one up to the light, admiring its glittering hue with a flourish of his hand.

Being a crusty bitch is a crime in their book. 

"This one captures my essence perfectly," Aoyama declared with a dramatic flair, his voice lilting with confidence as he made his selection. Mina chuckled, shaking her head in amusement as they made their way toward the counter.

Denki and Sero, not far behind, were engrossed in a lively debate over their favorite music band. Their voices rose above the ambient noise of the mall, attracting a few curious glances. Denki gesticulated animatedly, his eyes bright with passion as he defended his choice. "I'm telling you, their new album is fire! The beats are insane!"

Sero countered with equal enthusiasm, a mischievous grin on his face. "Si, pero like , the lyrics in their older stuff hit harder. You can't just overlook that!" His arms crossed over his chest, a challenge in his posture as he awaited Denki's rebuttal. Their exchange was playful, filled with an easy camaraderie.

Not far off, Jirou sat quietly with Momo. Jirou’s earbuds were plugged in, the faint sound of music just audible as she perused a rack of graphic tees. Her expression was thoughtful, her fingers brushing over the fabric as she considered her options. 

Occasionally, she glanced over at Momo, who was absorbed in selecting art supplies from a nearby shelf. Momo's concentration was evident in the way her brows furrowed slightly, her lips pursed in determination as she compared different shades of sketch pencils.

Near the food court, Sato and Koda were in their element, sampling soft pretzels from a nearby vendor. The aroma of freshly baked dough filled the air, mingling with the scent of warm butter and salt. Their faces lit up with delight as they bit into the savory snacks, the crunch of the pretzel giving way to soft, chewy perfection.

"I’m gonna make this back at the dorm!" Sato declared, his eyes wide with pleasure as he took another bite. Koda nodded in agreement, his usually shy demeanor momentarily forgotten as he enjoyed the treat.

In the midst of the mall's eclectic offerings, Toru and Ojiro found themselves browsing through racks of matching T-shirts and pajamas. Toru's laughter was infectious, her voice light and bubbly as she held up a pair of pajama pants covered in cartoonish animal prints. 

"These are so cute! Ojiro, you should totally get a pair to match!" she teased, her invisible form barely discernible except for the clothing she held.

Ojiro chuckled, his tail swaying behind him as he examined the T-shirt in his hands. "Sure thing, these tees would look pretty cool on you," he said, holding up a shirt with a simple yet striking heart design. His expression was relaxed, content in the easy banter they shared.

Further down the mall, the Hot Topic store exuded a darker, edgier vibe. The walls were adorned with posters of alternative bands, horror movie memorabilia, and gothic accessories that attracted a certain crowd. 

Fumikage Tokoyami and Mezo Shoji were drawn to the store's unique collection, their interest piqued by the array of darkly themed merchandise. Tokoyami's eyes gleamed with approval as he browsed through the selection of black hoodies and band T-shirts, Dark Shadow flickering in and out of view as it reacted to the ambient darkness.

Shoji, towering beside him, was more methodical in his approach, carefully examining each item before making a decision. His multiple arms moved with practiced efficiency, picking up and setting down items as he weighed his options. There was a quiet intensity to his movements, his nature calm but intensive.

Hitoshi Shinso, the newest addition to Class 2-A, stood nearby, quietly observing the array of mystery novels lining the shelves. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a spark of curiosity as he reached out to pull a book from the shelf. The cover was dark and foreboding, promising a tale of intrigue and suspense. Shinso flipped through the pages, his mind already piecing together the story within.

As the afternoon unfolded, the tranquil atmosphere of their shopping expedition was abruptly shattered by a sudden commotion echoing from the mall's main atrium. The cheerful chatter and the hum of activity were quickly drowned out by a chorus of panicked voices. 

Shoppers and storekeepers alike scrambled to escape the center of the chaos, their hurried footsteps reverberating through the marble floors.

"What's going on?" Shoto asked, his voice low as his eyes narrowed, instinctively sensing something was amiss. The cool air around him seemed to grow colder as he prepared for the worst.

Izuku's gaze darted towards the source of the disturbance, his expression sharpening with determination. "Something's happening. We need to check it out!"

With a unified nod, they abandoned their purchases and hurried towards the scene, their training as future heroes kicking in instinctively. They weaved through the bustling crowd, the throngs of people parting in their wake as they sprinted toward the mall's open space. The vibrant colors of store signs and displays blurred around them as they closed in on the source of the disturbance.

When they emerged into the atrium, the sight that greeted them was one of utter chaos. A villain stood at the center, their body crackling with electricity, causing nearby electrical appliances and lights to flicker and malfunction dangerously. 

Sparks flew as lights exploded overhead, sending shards of glass raining down. The air buzzed with the raw, uncontrolled energy that pulsed from the villain.

Ochaco's eyes widened in alarm. "We need to stop him before he causes a blackout!"

Before any of them could spring into action, a brilliant flash of light erupted from the villain's direction. The intensity of the glow momentarily blinded them, but when their vision cleared, they saw a figure stepping forward from the crowd—a woman dressed in unassuming civilian attire. 

Despite her inconspicuous appearance, her presence commanded attention. There was a quiet power in the way she carried herself, her gaze steely and focused as she assessed the situation.

"Everyone, stand back!" she called out, her voice firm and authoritative. 

Izuku and his classmates exchanged surprised glances but held their ground. watching in awe as the woman unleashed a burst of energy from her hands. Their initial confusion gave way to awe as the woman raised her hands, now crackling with energy that mirrored the villain's. 

She moved with a fluid grace, her actions deliberate and controlled. In one swift motion, she unleashed a concentrated burst of energy that shot through the air with blinding speed.

The energy blast struck the villain with pinpoint accuracy, the force of it sending them stumbling backward. The villain's powers sputtered out, the crackling electricity around them fizzling as they crumpled to the ground, unconscious and harmless. The once rampant chaos that had filled the atrium dissipated almost immediately, leaving behind a stunned silence.

The woman lowered her hands, the energy dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. She remained poised, her eyes sweeping over the now-subdued scene before landing on the group of young heroes-in-training. Izuku’s breath caught in his throat, the sheer power she had displayed lingering in the air.

"Thank you for the backup, but I've got it from here," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she acknowledged their readiness to jump into action. She quickly restrained the villain before pulling out her phone and called for backup, her voice calm and authoritative. 

"This one's neutralized. Send a team to secure the area."

Within moments, the sounds of sirens filled the air as police and other pro heroes arrived to handle the situation. Relieved, the woman now turned to the students, her eyes locking onto Izuku's for a moment longer than the others. Her gaze was intense, as if she recognized something in him.

"You're all heroes in training, right?" she asked, her tone firm but not unkind. It was weird how her presence was both commanding and serene. The way she carried herself exuded a quiet confidence that spoke volumes about her experience.

They nodded, still processing the sudden turn of events and the display of power they had just witnessed.

"Good," she continued. "Stay out of the way and let me handle this. Head back the way you came."

Reluctantly, they complied, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. Some of them were eager to jump in themselves, but the recent war had left a few of them wary of rushing into unknown danger.

Her eyes lingered on Izuku for a moment longer than the others, a fleeting exchange that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in a way yet to be understood.

There was something about that look that he couldn't quite shake, a feeling that would stay with him long after they left the mall.

---

As they regrouped outside, Kirishima was the first to voice what everyone was thinking. "That was so cool to see in person! The way that off-duty pro handled it without anything getting damaged was so manly!" 

"Yeah, but it's kind of a bummer our trip got cut short," Mina added, pouting a little as she remembered the bags they had left behind.

Some of the students remained quiet, their minds replaying the events that had just unfolded. The atmosphere was a mix of lingering adrenaline and reflective silence. Izuku and Bakugou, in particular, seemed more shaken than the others. The encounter had stirred memories of past battles, memories that were still too fresh to ignore.

Ochaco noticed Izuku's distant expression and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Izuku, are you okay?"

Izuku blinked, snapping back to reality and forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about how strong that lady is. It was incredible." His mind was still replaying the moment when her eyes had locked onto his, trying to decipher what it meant.

The group made their way back to U.A., the towering building a comforting sight after the unexpected events of the day. As they entered the common room, they were greeted by the sight of other classes returning to their dorms, their faces reflecting the mixed emotions of a day interrupted by the unexpected.

In the common room, Aizawa was waiting for them, his usual stern expression softened slightly by their safe return. The class brightened upon seeing their teacher, and they quickly crowded around him with excitement, eager to share their experiences.

"Dadzawa, look what I got!" Kaminari exclaimed, holding up a new band poster with a wide grin..

"Check out my new lip gloss!" Mina chimed in, showing off the shiny tube she had managed to purchase before the chaos erupted.

"I got some new hair dye!" Kirishima announced proudly, holding up the box with a toothy grin.

"One at a time," Aizawa said, raising his hands to quiet the enthusiastic students. "I'm glad to see you're all safe. Now, tell me about your ‘mall adventures’ ."

As the students eagerly recounted their shopping trip, showing off their new trinkets and purchases, Aizawa listened patiently, occasionally nodding and responding to their stories. The atmosphere was lively, the students' spirits lifted despite the earlier interruption.

Finally, Aizawa raised his hands again, silencing the room. "Alright, listen up. A new teacher will be joining U.A. while completing her Doctorate. Treat her with respect and learn from her."

Mina and Kaminari immediately perked up at the news. "More details, please!" they chorused, their curiosity piqued.

Aizawa's stern look silenced their pleas. "She will be your new art and history teacher. That's all you need to know for now."

“Ugh, lame!”

Some of the students, especially Mina and Kaminari, let out groans of disappointment. "But, Mr. Aizawa, can't you tell us a little more?" Denki pleaded, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I understand you all have questions about the new teacher joining us," he began, “But she has asked to remain anonymous at this time. She is to arrive there in three weeks time and I expect you all to give her the same respect you give me.” 

After looking around the room he sighed through his nose, “Hell, make it more respectful. Remember that you represent U.A.”

“But—” Kaminari started to protest, but the stern look Aizawa gave him made him quickly back down.

"That's all for now," Aizawa said, his tone final. "I expect you all to welcome her respectfully. Now, it's time to get ready for tomorrow."

With that, he dismissed them, and the students broke off for the evening, the lively atmosphere gradually returning as they scattered to their respective rooms. Izuku, however, was still deep in thought. As he entered his room, he carefully set up his new Charge Bomb figure on his desk, placing it alongside his other hero memorabilia.

Sitting down, he opened his hero notebook and flipped to a fresh page. His mind raced as he began sketching the mysterious woman, trying to capture the essence of her stance and the way her eyes had locked onto his. Each line he drew was careful and deliberate, his concentration intense as he tried to understand what had transpired.

As he sketched, he jotted down a few notes:

Name: Mall stopper

Quirk: Unknown, but likely related to energy manipulation.

Appearance: Mysterious, not in costume during the encounter.

Personality: Commanding presence, but not rude. 

Additional Notes: Encountered at the mall while stopping a villain. Avoids citizens getting harmed. 

Seemed to recognize me?

Izuku stared at the page for a long moment, his pencil hovering over the paper as he pondered the day's events.

He still had many questions, but he knew obsessing over it would disrupt his sleep schedule again.

But he knew he couldn’t sleep. 

Grabbing his phone, Izuku dialed his mother's number. The dorm room was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional distant laughter of his classmates the only sounds breaking the silence. His fingers tapped nervously on the phone case as he waited. It didn't take long for her cheerful voice to come through the receiver.

"Hi baby! How was your day?"

"It was good, Mom. We went to the mall and... something interesting happened," Izuku began, recounting the day's events and the encounter. As he spoke, he could hear the concern in his mother's voice.

"Just be careful, Izuku. I'm glad you're safe," she said, her tone gentle and loving.

“I promise, Mom. I’m tired of everyone thinking I’m in love with that hospital bed.” He chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood.

Inko giggled into the receiver before her tone took a softer approach. “You know, sweetie, you can still come home when you can’t sleep. I’ll handle your teacher.”

Now the idea of his adorable mom dealing with the physical embodiment of a grumpy cat that was his teacher was tempting but he really didn’t want to put her through that. 

"I know, Mom. But I’m fine, really!” Izuku replied, a small smile playing on his lips. The thought of his mother's comforting presence was tempting, but he was determined to manage on his own.

“Okay, if you say so. Make sure to get good rest tonight.”

“Goodnight, Mom," Izuku replied, feeling a sense of comfort wash over him.

"Goodnight, sweetie," she said before blowing a kiss into the phone and hanging up.

As he lay back in bed, his mind raced with thoughts of the new teacher and the mysterious pro hero. The encounter at the mall had been brief, but it left a lasting impression, fueling his curiosity and excitement.

“Who are you?” he muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling. 

The moonlight cast shadows across his room, giving it an almost ethereal quality. The day's events replayed in his mind, the adrenaline and wonder still lingering. 

The gentle hum of the air conditioner became a lullaby, blending with the distant murmurs of his classmates as Izuku's thoughts gradually began to quiet. He could still feel the intensity of that woman's gaze,  the warmth of her presence as vivid in his memory as if she were still standing before him. The encounter had left him with more questions than answers, but those questions could wait for tomorrow.

As he lay there, his thoughts slowly settled, and the comforting warmth of his conversation with his mother began to soothe the last remnants of his restlessness. The image of her familiar smile and the sound of her voice reminded him of the safety of home, a place where he was always welcome.

He shifted under the covers, finding a comfortable position as the day's events continued to fade into the recesses of his mind. His eyelids grew heavier, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. Izuku's last conscious thought was a whispered promise to himself to uncover the mystery behind the pro hero who had left such a strong impression on him.

In the stillness of the night, the world outside his window continued to turn, but within the quiet of his dorm room, Izuku finally surrendered to sleep. Dreams of heroes, battles, and new beginnings filled his mind,

---

As the dorms settled into a quieter atmosphere, Bakugou lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The buzz of late-night conversations and the distant sound of someone playing music softly on their phone faded into the background. His room was dimly lit, the moonlight filtering through the blinds, casting a faint glow across his tidy desk and the posters on the wall. 

Bakugou could hear the rhythmic breathing of his classmates through the thin walls, and while that used to annoy him and still kinda did, it was a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone, even in the stillness of the night.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence. Glancing at the screen, he saw his mother's photo flash across it. With a resigned sigh, he answered, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Oi, Katsuki! I saw you on the news at the mall today,” Mitsuki's voice boomed through the phone, as loud and commanding as ever. Apparently some people had taken videos of the villain attack and he was spotted in the background. 

“You need to take it easy. Remember your heart? And your arm?”

Bakugou grumbled, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a little leave-"

“Fine, my ass! Have you picked a therapist yet?” she demanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"I don't need one," Bakugou retorted, irritation evident in his tone. His free hand clenched into a fist, the tension palpable.

"Don't you give me that, Katsuki! You're my son, and I won't let you walk around with your trauma eating you alive," she snapped back, her fierce tone unmistakable. Some shuffling was heard in the background before a muffled “Fine!” Bakugou rolled his eyes, feeling the familiar mix of annoyance.

A gentler voice came on the line. "Katsuki, it's Dad. You know All Might and Aizawa found some really good professionals for you. You don't have to worry about your... verbal constipation with them. We understand you don't want to talk to us about it, but we love you and want you to be okay."

"The little squirt knows that already!" Mitsuki cut in, snatching the phone back. "You already know that we love you. If we didn't, we'd just let you do whatever, and you'd be a bigger asshole than you already act like."

Bakugou grumbled something incomprehensible, but his mother cut him off again. "This isn't up for negotiation. You don't have to talk to us about it, but you are going to heal, and that's final."

There was a pause, and Bakugou finally sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "I get it, Mom. I’ll... I’ll think about it."

The line went quiet for a moment, the tension easing. "Good. We love you, Katsuki. Goodnight," Mitsuki said softly, her voice carrying a rare note of tenderness.

"Love you too, Mom. Dad," Bakugou responded, his voice uncharacteristically tender, the words surprising even him.

‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’

Katsuki watched as the line hung up and he clicked his phone off and stared back up at the ceiling, a sense of warmth washed over him. His parents' concern, though sometimes overbearing, came from a place of deep love. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and allowed himself to relax. The worries and frustrations of the day seemed to melt away, leaving him with a rare sense of peace. 

For the first time in a while, he felt a bit lighter. Bakugou’s mind was quieter than usual, the echoes of his parents’ voices lingering in the back of his thoughts, offering a strange comfort he wasn’t used to acknowledging.

He wasn’t one to lean on anyone, not even his parents, but something about the way they’d insisted, the way his dad had gently nudged him while his mom pushed with her usual force, made him reconsider. It was a rare moment where their concern didn’t feel suffocating, but grounding. It made him think about the things he’d been pushing down, the way he’d been ignoring the nagging feelings that crept up on him in the quiet moments, like now.

The moonlight continued to cast soft shadows across his room, and the distant sounds of his classmates—now more like a comforting white noise—faded further into the background as he focused on his breathing, steady and even. Bakugou wasn’t sure when he’d started to rely on these moments of solitude to sort through his thoughts, but tonight, they didn’t seem as overwhelming as they usually did.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but the idea of talking to someone—a therapist, of all people—wasn’t as off-putting as it had been before. Maybe he was just tired, or maybe the events of the day had worn him down more than he realized. 

Or maybe, just maybe , the thought of unloading some of the weight he carried didn’t seem so bad. But that was a decision for tomorrow. For now, he let the warmth of his parents' love settle in, something he wasn’t used to acknowledging but found comforting nonetheless.

Bakugou let his eyes close, his breathing slowing as sleep began to take over. For the first time in a long while, the tightness in his chest eased, replaced by a sense of calm that was almost foreign to him. He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but tonight, he was content with the knowledge that he didn’t have to face it all alone. 

And with that thought, he finally drifted into a deep, undisturbed sleep, his usual scowl replaced by the faintest hint of a relaxed expression.

---

Across the dorms, a restless atmosphere pervaded the night. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken fears and lingering trauma, wrapping around each student like a suffocating blanket. 

In one room, Sero and Denki were engaged in an intense game of Mario Kart, the room illuminated by the flickering screen. Their eyes were dry and heavy with fatigue, yet their determination kept them focused on the game. Sero's fingers flew over the controller, his competitive spirit shining through despite the exhaustion. 

Denki leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally letting out a frustrated groan when he lost a race. The game was a distraction, a desperate attempt to stay awake, to avoid the nightmares waiting on the other side of sleep. They wanted to stay awake, afraid to drift off with the lights off and let the flashbacks creep in.

Down the hall, Jirou sat cross-legged on her bed, her guitar resting gently on her lap. Her fingers trembled as they strummed the strings, testing out the reconstruction of her ear. Tears streamed down her face, glistening in the soft glow of her bedside lamp. 

She winced from the phantom pains, her breath hitching with each painful cramp that surfaced. The melody she played was soft and mournful, echoing the lingering trauma within her. Each note seemed to resonate with her heartache. She closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the music, hoping it would offer some solace.

The music was a refuge, a way to express what words couldn’t—her pain, her fear, the lingering terror that her body was still recovering from. She focused on the vibrations of the strings, trying to drown out the phantom pains and the memories of the screams and explosions. 

Wounds that no melody alone could fully heal.

Kirishima tossed and turned in his bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. His brow was furrowed in distress, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He fought against the blankets as if they were the villains he’d faced, his body rigid with tension. Kiri was trapped in a nightmare, locked in a never-ending battle with a mysterious figure. 

His hardened skin, usually a source of strength, offered no protection from the terror gnawing at his mind. He clenched his fists physically, his muscles tensing as he fought off the invisible enemy, but the fear remained, a relentless killer.

In another room, Tokoyami paced back and forth, his mind a storm of anxiety. The pacing was erratic, each step driven by a nervous energy that had no outlet. Dark Shadow hovered nearby, mirroring his agitation with restless flutters. 

Sato, sitting cross-legged on the floor, had tried to bake away his stress, but the pile of untouched pastries on the table told a different story. The sweet aroma of cookies and cakes filled the room, a stark contrast to the bitterness of their shared unease. Sato just stared at the pound cake he had made, his eyes unfocused. 

He couldn't bring himself to eat it, the sight of the cake stirring up memories of happier times that now felt distant.

How it mocked him now. 

Shinsou was in Koda's room, perched on the edge of the bed. The room was dimly lit, casting soft shadows that danced gently with the movements of the little creature. Koda's gentle strokes seemed to calm not only the bunny but also the tension that had been building in Shinsou's chest all night. 

Koda's touch was careful and soothing, a therapeutic distraction from the darkness that loomed over them. The bunny's nose twitched, and Koda smiled faintly, a brief respite from the weight of their worries. He would need to sneak his cat in soon.

In the kitchen, Momo and Mina stood side by side, giggling softly as they made fried egg rice, the gentle sounds offering a momentary escape. 

The familiar routine of cooking offered them a small slice of normalcy, a way to focus their minds on something other than the gnawing anxiety that had settled in their stomachs. The soft clink of utensils, the sizzle of oil in the pan, and the aroma of fried egg rice filled the air, creating a comforting backdrop to their hushed conversation.

Their laughter wasn’t forced, but the enthusiasm was a mask for their lack of appetite and the anxiety that gnawed at their insides. 

Momo's hands moved with precision as she flipped the eggs, her mind clearly elsewhere, but the rhythm of the task kept her grounded. Beside her, Mina stirred the rice, her usual energy dampened but still present in the jokes she told. 

They had made a pact to eat together, finding comfort in each other's company. Maybe during one of these meals, they would find some semblance of peace, even if just for a little while.

In Tsu's room, the atmosphere was different, heavy with the shared weight of darkness that clung to them like a second skin. Ochako and Tsu had taken to sleeping in Tsu's room, both girls haunted by nightmares. They found comfort in each other's presence, huddled together under the covers like two lost children seeking shelter from a storm. 

Ochako’s hand moved gently through Tsu's hair, her fingers weaving a calming rhythm that seemed to blend with the steady beat of their hearts. Tsu's voice, usually so strong, had softened to a croak as she whispered back reassurances, her words mingling with Ochako's in a comforting lullaby. They clung to each other, finding safety in the closeness.

Todoroki sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, his hands resting on his knees as he tried to meditate. His mind, however, was a war  zone, haunted by the image of his brother's burnt remains being hauled to prison and the knowledge of his parents' impending divorce. His scar throbbed painfully every time he thought about it, the physical reminder of his family's turmoil adding to his mental anguish. He took deep, measured breaths, trying to calm the storm inside him, but the images persisted, a relentless assault on his peace. 

In another room, Aoyama sat hunched over, clutching a pillow tightly against his chest. He was allowed to stay at the school, but now he used tactical weapons, a constant reminder of the shame he felt. Tears streamed down his face, his muffled sobs filling the quiet room. The guilt of his actions, the sense of betrayal he had inflicted on his friends, weighed heavily on him. He whispered apologies into the night, his voice cracking with each word. The moonlight that spilled through his window bathed the room in a cold, silvery light, but it did nothing to lift the darkness that had settled over his heart. He didn’t deserve their forgiveness. 

Iida scrolled through pictures of him and his brother, his heart aching with every swipe. The blue light from his phone screen cast a lonely glow in the dark room, reflecting off his foggy glasses. He wanted to call his brother, to hear his voice, but hesitated, worried about not appearing strong. He didn't want to burden anyone with his feelings, even though he longed for the comfort of his brother's voice. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him.

Elsewhere in the dorms, Toru and Ojiro were connected by a fragile thread of comfort, falling asleep together on the phone. The silence was comforting, but they would panic if they couldn't hear the other breathing. Hatsume had finally made Toru a suit that would protect her and disappear with her during combat, but Toru hadn't wanted to put it on for a long time. They both dreaded the return to classes, haunted by the visions of devastation and innocent lives lost. The phone line crackled softly, their breathing synchronized in a fragile connection that kept their fears at bay. 

Mineta and Shoji sat quietly in Shoji's room, each lost in their thoughts. Shoji's large hands rested on his knees, his eyes distant as he stared at the floor. The memories of past battles and the fear of suddenly losing his classmates gnawed at him relentlessly. It was a fear that clung to him, insidious and ever-present, like a persistent bug he couldn't shake off. 

Mineta, usually boisterous, was unusually quiet.  The usual sparkle in his eyes was replaced by a haunted look, the guilt of his past behavior towards Mt. Lady and Midnight, and his female classmates, feeling icky and disgusted for treating them so pervertedly when they almost died weighed heavily on his conscience. The near-death experiences they had all faced brought him a new perspective, making his previous actions feel vile and unforgivable. The shame and regret twisted in his stomach, making it hard to meet Shoji's gaze or anyone else's.

The silence between them was heavy, but their presence provided each other a small measure of comfort.

The dorm was filled with a heavy silence, each student grappling with their own demons. Despite their proximity, they felt isolated in their pain, struggling to find a way to heal from the scars of the war. The evening stretched on, each tick of the clock a reminder that the night was still young. 

And then there was Shouta Aizawa, awake in the stillness of the night with little Eri asleep in his arms. The soft, flickering light from the children's show on the television cast a gentle glow across the room, creating a cocoon of warmth and tranquility. Eri, nestled against his chest, was fast asleep, her breaths coming in gentle, rhythmic intervals. 

Aizawa's fingers moved softly through her hair, the silky strands slipping through his touch as he offered silent reassurance with each stroke. He knew he should tug her into bed, but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet. He needed a few more minutes with her warm presence, a reminder of the fragile yet resilient life he was entrusted with.

Aizawa's eyes wandered to his laptop, the screen dark and waiting. He sighed, knowing there were reports to review and emails to answer, but he decided it could stay shut. The digital demands of his work could wait; this moment with Eri was too precious to cut short.

His thoughts drifted to you, the new hire who had been a topic of much discussion. He didn't know much about you other than what Nemuri had mentioned before in passing and now in her lucid moments before slipping back into her coma. 

He was visiting that night when Nemuri awoke and kept screaming your name, an indication of some message he didn't yet understand. You were coming over from somewhere outside Japan, and your media stunt piqued his curiosity. 

Your hero name had made national headlines a few months ago when you openly condemned the world government for letting the villain situation in Japan deteriorate to the point where high school students had to step in as heroes in an interview. This statement had sparked national outrage, the impact of your statements was still reverberating throughout the world.

Parents, politicians, teachers, pro heroes, retired heroes, activists, universities, civilians and students had reshared the clip, their responses ranging from agreement to vehement opposition. Your boldness had shaken the status quo, making waves in a community that was already shaky and possibly past its edge.

Nezu’s decision to bring you on board was a calculated move, but the details of that calculation remained elusive. As the principal of U.A., Nezu was known for his shrewd, strategic thinking. If Nezu saw value in you, it was likely due to some unique qualities or capabilities you possessed that could benefit the school in ways not immediately apparent. There had to be a reason, a calculated move that Aizawa hadn't yet deciphered. 

As he continued to stroke Eri's hair, he felt a mix of skepticism and curiosity about your arrival. What could you bring to U.A. that Nezu found so necessary? What kind of impact would you have on the students?

Eri stirred slightly, her tiny hand clutching his shirt. Aizawa smiled softly, his worries momentarily pushed aside.

He knew you had been spotted in Japan several times, not just as a spectator but actively involved in aiding the capture of remaining villains and providing relief to the heroes. 

Your efforts extended beyond direct action; you had initiated several charities and secured sponsorships to support families devastated by villain attacks and heroes who were affected in the line of duty. These actions had garnered you a significant following and earned you a reputation for being a force for good in times of crisis.

Yet, despite your public persona, you maintained a guarded privacy. You refused to disclose details such as your age, height, or the reasons behind choosing an all-black shroud for your hero costume, apart from its emblem. You seemingly avoided media attention, declining certain magazine features and interviews. 

Instead, you channeled your "celebrity" status towards advocating for societal change and supporting humanitarian causes. It was simple, if they wanted to talk to you, they had to donate. Your reluctance to engage with the press directly and your selective disclosures raised Aizawa's suspicions and defensive instincts, particularly when it came to the well-being of his students.

He was an underground hero himself. Why so worried?

Because he knew they were all suffering. 

Nezu was in the process of trying to find a school therapist team that could be on call. And it killed him that he couldn't do anything about it other than allowing trips to the mall and being there when they got back. So he did not need a 'mysterious' loose cannon of a teacher negatively affecting them in any way. Any additional information he requested was denied under your contract binding the school to not show your image, ever. As far as he knew, only Nezu and Nemuri knew what you looked like.

He valued transparency and reliability in those who interacted with his students, qualities that seemed elusive in your case. The contrast between your public deeds and private secrecy only heightened his wariness.

Eri shifted in his lap, and Aizawa decided he didn't want to think about negative things while holding her. He gently scooped her up, placing her in her own bed and kissing her forehead before tucking the covers around her and turning on her cat night light before shutting the door, but not all the way. He made sure the nightlights in the hallway and bathroom were working before he forced himself to sleep in his bed and not on the couch because it was closer. 

The darkness of his room offered a semblance of peace, but his mind remained active, turning over the complexities of the situation with you. It was his duty to safeguard his students from any potential threats, and that included being cautious about new additions to their environment.

As he closed his eyes, he tried to push aside the anxieties that had plagued him throughout the day. The comfort of his own bed, the familiar surroundings, and the knowledge that Eri was safe in the next room helped to ease the tension in his head. He had seen enough to know that vigilance was necessary, but he also knew that excessive worry would not serve him or his students well.

It didn't matter if you did end up being a bad influence. He would keep a close eye on you and be ready to stop anything that would harm his class.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, If you wanna be added lemme know!

Chapter 2 is here.

That was the first chapter! So far there are 3 posted on my ao3 account.

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a Bakugou x Sugar Baby Reader here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

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See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[tame-the-lion-writes]

alpha!slasher!königx omega!reader

CW: implied murder, (and in bonus thoughts) implied kidnapping, non-consensual drug use

Damn pheromones.

If it weren't for petty social sensibilities, König would be clamping a hand over his nose to stifle the thoughts--and scents--running through his mind. In the past, it wasn't so bad. Alphas like him were drawn but could otherwise stand their existence(--at least until the addicting whiff of a heat). But omegas smelled so artificial these days; sickly sweet, like candy, or even worse--chemicals. Perfumes made to amplify the already-overwhelming smell of sugar. More like cough medicine hacked down with two bottles of water. And even a spoonful was far too much.

But the woman across the table seemed to flaunt that.

Silly thing--he thought. Pretty, by all standards, as omegas often were, but silly. Sure, he'd agreed to court her and bring her to a high class restaurant, just as his salary and rank could provide, but that cherry red smile on her lips seemed as plastic-ridden as the patch on her neck. Artificial enhancers. As he's learned in the past three and a half decades of being mate-less, it had become a staple.

No matter, though.

He'd get rid of the scent soon enough.

His date is going on and on about some topic he doesn't care about. Maybe commenting on the scars cutting through his face (though she doesn't seem to mind). Cherry red lips parting and teeth shining, but he doesn't hear a word. There's a gag waiting for her at the back of his car, anyway--and scent blockers ready to be forced down her throat. Did the police ever think about that, he wonders?--how scent blockers made it so easy to disappear without a trace? Stupid creatures hadn't learned to investigate without relying on their nose.

(And even if they had, he'd left no paper trails; he was a dead man walking, at least on paper, thanks to convenient career aspirations.)

But before he could reach on over, suggest an escape to elsewhere--(from life itself)--up came the sweet young thing holding a notepad in hand, apron around the waist, apologizing that the other waitress had clocked out for the evening, and that she was here to take over. And König's hand stops, hovering over the edge of the table, a light, unnoticeable tremble to it as he finally breathes in.

Subtle. Subtle.

Almonds. Cinnamon. Warm bread and butter.

He licks his lips subconsciously, tasting the warmth as he swallows.

König leaves the restaurant that night, still letting the other omega cling to his arm, but he returns a week later--(it's all he could wait)--alone because, "things just didn't work out." But of course, you take him at his word: he looks surprised to see you again, and squints as if to re-read your nametag. But really, he's learned your schedule, the make and model of your car. The license plate, registration number--the address of your apartment. (Of course he has--why wouldn't he?--) Not once have you left his mind. Because you're something new to him, new to occupy it--how strange; how precious.

-- And not too sweet.

_

Bonus Thoughts:

König continues to visit, and though you find it strange he goes alone--the restaurant is more popular with couples after all--you start to look forward to seeing him now and then. König's patient the first month or so, upping the frequency only little by little, because at first, he's convinced that seeing you from a distance every night is enough.

But patience only lasts so long.

He finally asks you out on a date, and you agree.

There's a few dates, really. (Can't have you disappearing from your friends' lives the moment you mention going out with him, after all.) A few dates before it happens.

You can't recall going to his house, or even his car. And you certainly don't recall getting into a bed that smells just like him (--cold metal, maybe iron, maybe from him--maybe from something else--)

You're about to unwind from the (admittedly warm and comfortable) bundle of sheets around you when König walks in, carrying a tray of freshly cooked food, and sets it down nearby. Before you can ask any questions, he's shoving his face into the crook of your neck. Brushing his nose against your scent gland--almost purring.

"K-König? Where am I? What are you doing--"

"Shh, Mäuschen. It's alright. You're home."

[author-morgan]

Title: Iā Zaldrīzes's Prūmia  Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader Rating: T Summary: Promises are not idly spoken and Aemond proves he's a man of his word.  Warnings: typical Westerosi shenanigans

THE DOORS OF your bedchamber creak and groan as they open without ceremony, but you already know who the unannounced and uninvited guest is at this hour —Prince Aemond Targaryen. “A gentleman would have knocked,” you tease as he makes his way across the room to where you sit at your vanity, following the trail of your discarded clothing —stockings, petticoat, skirt, bodice, and stays.

Aemond steps behind you, his hands resting at the base of your neck, fingertips lightly pressing into your collarbones. He bends at the waist, pressing his nose into the crown of your hair —still half bound up from the evening’s festivities— and inhales the sweet fading scent of rose and honeyed blood orange. “You avoided me tonight, sīmontan,” he notes. 

“Only to appease my father,” you tell him, watching his expression shift from mild ire and annoyance to curiosity in the reflection as you comb through another braid. Lord Wylde thinks himself a perspicacious man, and surely when it comes to the realm's affairs, he is, but he’s nigh blind to his daughter’s heart and longings. He expects you to take a husband soon —and quell the whispers that entertain the servants of the Red Keep and the court for good.

Expectations mean entertaining would-be suitors with pleasant conversation and clumsy dances during feasts instead of gossiping with Princess Helaena and her brother, Aemond. “We’re not children anymore,” you remind him. He is a prince. You are a lady. Neither you nor he can escape the responsibilities that come with each role.

“No,” he agrees. The days of childhood and innocence are long gone —he likes to think his childhood ended when Lucerys Velaryon took his eye. But even if childhood has come and gone, it feels like few things have changed between you and him. And maybe that’s what causes people to talk when they see the prince absconding from your chambers early in the morning or when you both return at indecent hours having stolen away on horse or dragon back.

Aemond sits next to you on the vanity bench and plucks one of the silver combs from your hair. Having him so close after the feast and your father's words gnaws at your heart in a new and strange way. You do not wish to be parted from the prince, but you cannot give yourself false hope either. “How much longer can we carry on like this?” You ask, voice wavering, and for maybe the first time, Aemond realizes the toll of his affections —of the life you both lead in private. “Sneaking around whilst my father and your mother try to make suitable matches for us.”

“I’ll tell mother there’s only one match she need make then,” he tells you. He called you his princess as a boy, but when Vhagar accepted you, he knew —it should have been enough to make your father and Alicent realize too. Aemond wraps a lock of your hair around his finger and tugs on it gently. “You’ll be a Princess of the Realm. What father would not wish that honor upon his daughter?” Then he leans closer and whispers in your ear. “Our sons could be kings.”

“Planning to depose your brother already?” That earns you a quiet laugh. He’s made it no secret that he is better suited for the throne than his lecherous brother. “It matters not, though.” You unwind the last of the braids and glance down at the brush in hand. Aemond’s pursed lips fall, his brow furrowing. “In the end, I am but the daughter of a minor house,” you remind him, “unfit for such a prestigious match.” Queen Alicent Hightower will pursue a union between her second son and a daughter from one of the Great Houses of Westeros —not the daughter of a lesser house from the Stormlands. House Wylde has nothing to offer the Crown save for love and loyalty. 

“I don’t give a shit about prestige,” Aemond bites, his tone sharp and expression harsh. He’ll not tolerate hearing you patronize yourself, nor the thought that anyone other than him would get to decide who is worthy of his love. The harsh line of his lips softens, as does the furrow between his brows. He shifts, taking hold of your hands —thumbs running across your knuckles. “Nyke jaelagon ao.”

Freeing one of your hands, you reach around him, undoing the clasp of his eyepatch. He catches the leather piece and places it next to one of your hair combs on the vanity. The blue of his stone-eye glimmers in the firelight —you’ve never loved that shade of deep blue as much as you do now. Aemond closes his eye when your fingertips meet the start of his scar, tracing downward, over where his eye should be, and across his cheek. He conceals his sapphire eye while at court so as not to frighten the ladies. But you had been among the first to see him after his return from Driftmark —the wound fresh and stitches swollen. Aemond hadn’t wanted you to look upon him, not after hearing whispers from others, but true friends did not abandon one another so readily.

You tilt your chin up and lean closer to him, heart racing. There’ll be no going back after tonight, one way or another. “Then make good on your promise and take me,” you breathe. It’s a promise made a lifetime ago and one you nor he has ever forgotten. 

Aemond inhales before he seizes your face within his hands and lurches forward, lips seeking yours —hungry and zealous and loving. You sigh into his mouth, fingers twisting into his silver-white hair. He tastes of smoke and wine and everything you could ever dream of in this life.

THE SPACE NEXT to you in bed is empty and cold when your lady’s maid, Lyra, comes to wake and prepare you for the day. She says nothing about the state of your undress —only offers a meek smile when she realizes you wear Prince Aemond’s tunic. People in the Red Keep like to speculate about your and the prince’s relationship, but only Lyra knows the truth, having stumbled upon you and Aemond in bed, wrapped up in one another. It had been innocent enough then, but now without the high neck of your linen shift beneath a blue-green dress, the world would be able to see the scattering of dark lovebites on your neck —and speculation would turn to scandal.

A posted guard announces your arrival, and Helaena looks up from her embroidery and offers a faint and fleeting smile. “Good morrow, Lady Wylde,” the princess greets. You arrive later than usual, and Helaena’s already broken her fast with her brothers, sorely missing the pleasant conversation which often quells Aemond and Aegon’s tempers.

“Good morrow to you, princess,” you reply, dipping down into a quick curtsey before taking a seat across from her. Your unfinished embroidery is left on the low table, a poor attempt to create the sigil of House Wylde —a blue-green maelstrom on a golden field. The curves and lines are not straight, and instead of neat swirls, it looks more like a patchwork of yellow and blue thread. “We’ve apple tarts still from breakfast,” Helaena notes to break the looming quiet. “Made sure my brothers did not eat them all.”

You thank Helaena for her thoughtfulness, then turn your attention to little Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, swaddled in pale linens and still fast asleep in their bassinet. Helaena often reprimands you for spoiling them, just as she does their uncle. It’s astounding such pure little beings had come from Aegon’s loins. “Aemond was looking for you,” she says, suddenly —knowing something was off with him this morning. “He’s gone to train now.”

“Did he say why?” But Helaena does not answer, only offering another quick smile. 

Ser Criston Cole glimpses you as you descend the stairs to join the others watching the prince’s training session. “You have an audience,” the kingsguard knight says, pushing away from a stalemate. Aemond always garners an audience when he trains —it makes for a bout of good entertainment on droll days, especially when his opponent is Ser Criston. But now the one person Prince Aemond always looks for arrives —and it’s the only audience that matters to the young prince. He spins the hilt of his training sword, then drives the blunted sword into the ground and turns on heel.

You step to Aemond, hands clasped behind your back and head tilted to the side —appraising his disheveled appearance and the sheen of sweat on his pale brow. “Helaena said you wished to see me, my prince?”

Mindlessly, he reaches for a lock of your hair, twisting it around his finger. “I always wish to see you,” Aemond replies, softly and hushed.

“Flattery will get you everywhere and nowhere, Aemond.” You grip his wrist lest he forgets himself and the others watching with eagle eyes and loose lips.

“Mm” —his lips quirk upward, and his gaze dips downward, tracing the line of your jaw and neck— “let’s hope for the former then, my lady,” he breathes, a heady lilt to the words. You like to think yourself immune to his tricks and sweet words, but the flush of warmth painting your cheeks says otherwise. Aemond smiles in earnest and glimpses his waiting opponent over his shoulder. “May I ask your favor whilst I best this old knight?” He asks, just loud enough for those closest to hear.

“I’ve no favor to give,” you tell him, amused —you have no crown of flowers, ribbon, or handkerchief to present the prince this day, only yourself.

But that’s more than enough. “A kiss then,” Aemond muses, already leaning closer and expecting you to acquiesce his request, “from my fairest lady.”

You press a hand to his chest, fingers toying with one of the buckles of his gambeson. “Only if you win.” A kiss is a precious thing, and you dare not give one away so freely before your titled peers. Aemond steps back and recovers his training sword, then turns to face Ser Criston.

Three more rounds come to pass. One ends in a draw, the other with Aemond knocking the kingsguard knight’s sword from hand, but in the final contest, Criston claims victory.

The gathered lords and ladies clap and cheer, slowly filtering from the training yard now that the spectacle is over. You lean against a training dummy, watching as the two combatants and their page boys come to rerack the training weapons. “It’s good of you to knock him on his arse from time to time, Ser Criston,” you remark, making your way toward the knight and prince. 

Aemond glares across the training yard, but you only smile sweetly for him. In truth, it soothes your heart and mind to know the prince is trained by one of the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms —and one of the few battle-hardened warriors who resided in the city at that. “Even princes must be humbled, my lady,” Ser Criston replies. “A duty I take no pleasure in.”

You reach for Aemond’s arm. “Walk with me,” you say, smiling up at him. He obliges, knowing your company will be the sweetest balm for his wounded pride. You mean to steal him away to the godswood of the Keep but passing members of the court all seek to stop you and the prince for polite conversation —a question about King Viserys’s health, an offhand remark about the unusually warm weather. 

Many in the court believe you to be a good match for the prince regardless of birth status, though they’d never dare speak such improper opinions aloud. And all the while, Aemond presses his hand against the small of your back, his thumb rubbing circles, mindlessly, through the linen and silk of your summer dress —always touching you somehow, as he is wont to do, and uncaring of whoever may see.

It takes time to converse with everyone so as not to be seen as impolite, but the halls of the Red Keep give way to the godswood. Aemond stops beneath the weirwood tree and peers up at the red leaves, suddenly lost in thought and memory. “If you could go anywhere” —his gaze flits down to you— “where would you go?” He isn’t sure what he wants to hear you say. 

“Se hūra,” you answer, needing little time to ponder an answer. You’ve everything you want here in King’s Landing —family, friends, the love of a prince— you needn't go anywhere else save the impossible. 

“You’d have to fly to the moon,” he muses.  

You step in front of Aemond and reach for his hands —twining your fingers with his. “But you have a dragon.” You could take me. If any dragon could reach the moon and stars, it would be Vhagar, and Aemond would take you without question or hesitation. He does not say anything, but there’s a glimmer in his eye, and then he frees one of his hands, the backs of his fingers skimming across your cheek. Aemond exhales softly, leaning in as you tilt your chin up, standing a little taller. It’s a small kiss, just at the corner of your mouth, nothing more, nothing less —for propriety’s sake. But before he can part, you turn your head, noses brushing together just before your lips do. 

It’s a risky decision to display your feelings for one another so openly, but the prince is long past caring, and you’re nigh to that point too. A cool tingle crawls up your arms when his hand cradles the back of your head —fingers lacing into your hair. Aemond nudges your nose with his own, and on instinct, you both tilt your heads, finding a better angle for him to kiss you slowly, lazily. And then he grabs your waist with his free hand and pulls you closer to him, breathing in your little gasp. “Ñuha sīmontan,” he whispers upon parting. Then he releases you from his gentle hold and steps back.

You cannot keep him to yourself this day, he’s promised to tend to his mother before continuing his studies with the maester, and you must return to Helaena’s company as her favored lady-in-waiting.

AEMOND KNEELS BEDSIDE and wakes you with the cool brush of his fingertips against your cheek. “Come to bed, jorrāelagon,” you murmur, catching his mismatched gaze of lilac and sapphire in the dim firelight of the dwindling sconces. But he makes no move to join you; instead, he offers his hand —and his heart. 

Rousing, you don a dressing gown and cloak and follow your rogue prince through the hidden passageways of the Red Keep and into a courtyard below, where Ser Criston waits with a saddled black destrier. The kingsguard knight passes the reins to Aemond with a curt nod before taking his leave to return to his post at the Queen’s door. Aemond helps you up into the saddle, then mounts behind you and takes the reins, turning westward. It’s common for the two of you to steal away for the night, but seldom do such trysts occur without prior thought. You glance over your shoulder. “Where are we going at this hour?”

His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back flush against his chest. “Se hūra,” Aemond replies, a gentle whisper in your ear. 

King’s Landing fades on the horizon as you ride to the south and towards the Kingswood. He slows the horse to a halt at the edge of a clearing surrounding one of the largest oak trees in the swath of forest. Burning lanterns hang from the lowest branches, and an altar bearing miniature stone likenesses of the Seven stands before the great trunk.

Aemond eases you from the saddle, then dismounts himself and offers the crook of his arm. You glance around and to the stars and moon above —the clouds from earlier have parted to a clear night sky— before looking up at the prince. A flutter starts in your belly, and your heart begins beating faster. It isn’t, you tell yourself. He wouldn’t break tradition so easily. “Is this where you disappeared to earlier?” You query, wondering how many days and nights he’s spent planning this moment, but he does not offer an answer.

When you reach the altar, he steps before you and takes your hands. “I like to think I am a man of my word,” Aemond starts, and you can see the nervous twinkle in his eye. “I would make you mine tonight,” he tells you. “Now and forever.” He promised when you were only children that you’d be his princess one day, and again when you were both of age and realized simple friendship could not account for the way you loved one another. The tears pricking at your eyes are ones of joy, and you smile for Aemond before embracing him, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

From the shadows, Septon Eustace emerges, a marriage cape draped over his arm and a lantern held aloft in the other. Part of you refuses to believe this is happing —you’ve scarcely dreamt of something so sweet as this moment. Eustace bows his head. There is no need for ceremony or rambling to appease the masses. Tonight it is only two young lovers, desperate and eager to speak the sacred vows before it is too late.

“We are here to join these two as man and wife in the sight of the Seven,” he begins, looking between you and the prince and the carved figurines of the Seven on the altar. You grip Aemond’s hand, fingertips pressing into his wrist. “One flesh, one heart” —his heart is racing, just as yours is, almost in sync— “one soul, now and forever.” And forever shall come too soon.

“Cloak the bride, my prince.” The septon extends his arm, offering the black cape emblazoned with the sigil of House Targaryen, embroidered with silver thread and shining ruby eyes. “Bring her under your protection.” Aemond takes the cloak and steps behind you —his uneven breaths fan across the nape of your neck— draping the heavy fabric over your shoulders. The new weight makes you stand taller, as a princess of the realm should.

Septon Eustace lowers his head as Aemond returns to your side and reaches for your shaking hand, but his touch nigh instantly soothes your nerves and heart. “In the name of the Seven, I seal these two souls” —the septon wraps a red silk ribbon around your joined hands— “binding them as one for eternity,” he states, taking a step back. “Now look upon one another and say the words.”

You glimpse Aemond, gaze following the sharp line of his jaw, before shifting to face him. “Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger,” you and Aemond say in unison, gazes locked and unfaltering —his cold gaze softens, reflecting the lanterns and stars. You take a slow breath before reciting the vows you’ve only ever dreamt of speaking. “I am his, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days,” you proclaim. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days, Aemond echoes. 

“It is done then,” the septon says, bowing his head as he unbinds the silk ribbon. “I wish you both happiness and good health.” Eustace looks to Aemond. “My prince” —then his gaze flits over to you— “princess.” A flutter of wings stirs in your belly hearing your new title, another promise Aemond had made good on. And then Septon Eustace takes his leave.

Alone, you reach for him and rise on your toes to bestow a kiss just below his sapphire eye, along the scar cutting across his cheek. “Husband,” you call him, giddy with the thought and what it means for the future. 

Aemond rests his forehead against yours, lips curved into a smile. “Say it again,” he breathes, the words a soft caress against your lips and cheek. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of hearing his name and titles in your soft, lilted voice. 

“Valzȳrys,” you whisper, remembering the Valyrian word for ‘husband’ —you came across it while reading a book about the traditions of Old Valyria with him in the library. 

“Ābrazȳrys,” he calls you. Another title added to an ever-growing list of endearments: Wife. Princess. My love. Rose. Aemond cups your face in his hands and brings your lips together. The kiss is sweet and soft, not lesser, or more than any other you’d shared in secret, only now, he is more than your dear prince.  

IT’S NOT DIFFICULT to keep your marriage to Aemond a secret. You both carry on as you always have in the eyes of the court, but your husband takes to the secret passageways of the Red Keep to spend the evening and night hours with his new wife —always gone by morning, though. No one, save for Lyra and perhaps Helaena, suspects a thing.

And so your father continues his search for a suitable man to marry his daughter. He calls upon you to take lunch in the gardens with him and hear the good news. “You’re to meet Humfrey Swyft in a week's time,” Lord Wylde announces. House Swyft is a knightly house of the Westerlands, sworn to House Lannister. A good name. A good house. A good match. But as your father speaks, your heart begins to race —pounding in your ears like the war drums of the Giants. “He has asked to seek your hand in courtship.” And marriage. 

“I cannot accept this match, father,” you tell him, eyes downcast and gaze focused on your hands —folded in your lap. Lord Wylde’s brows settle into a deep furrow. He raised you as a proper lady of the court, talented in womanly affairs and always dutiful. Despite your newfound happiness, it is still painful to be a disappointment to your father and house.

“I am wed to another.” Your voice trembles as you speak the truth, and your father’s face turns red with anger. But you go on. Lord Wylde is a devout follower of the Seven, and perhaps it will ease his heart and curb his temper to know you had not done something so reckless on a whim. “Septon Eustace and the Seven will attest to my vows.”

“To whom are you married, daughter?” He knows the answer already, deep down —and knows the whispers which entertain the servants and other members of the court about his daughter and the prince are true. You look up from your glass of sweet wine, seeing Aemond approach through the hedges —a prince come to rescue his lady wife— and give a quiet sigh of relief.

“Me,” Aemond says before you can speak his name. “And we did so with the Queen’s blessing.” You look to your husband, just as surprised as your father upon hearing it. Though, at least it soothes your heart to know Good Queen Alicent looked upon your union with her son favorably.

“You need not worry for her happiness or prosperity, my Lord Wylde.” Aemond rounds the table and reaches for your hand to kiss your knuckles, his lips pulling into a smile against your flesh. “I will honor her as all good husbands honor their wives.” His cool gaze flits from your father back to you, a new, unspoken promise shining in his eye. Now, always, and forever. 

High Valyrian Translation: Iā Zaldrīzes's Prūmia - A Dragon’s Heart Sīmontan. - Rose. Nyke jaelagon ao. - I want you. Se hūra. - The moon. Ñuha sīmontan. - My rose. Jorrāelagon. - Love. Valzȳrys. - Husband. Ābrazȳrys. - Wife.

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[merbear25]

Spending the weekend at a haunted B&B

You wondered why the room was so cheap, but you two have been wanting to take a weekend for yourselves, so you hurried up and booked it. With the odd sounds that travel through the halls in the middle of the night, you and your man are in for an interesting time

CW: SFW, gn!reader, established relationship, some humor and fluff, Usopp crying.

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp

Luffy: He took some convincing to take this relaxing weekend. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend more one on one time with you, but he assumed that there wouldn’t be a whole lot to do. Even though he had his reservations, he did what he did best: finding the bright side to things. He’d be with you, which always made things better.

On the first night, you both fell asleep rather quickly—exhausted from your journey and wanting to sleep off the comatose inducing quantities of food. However, when the clock ticked into the late hours of the night, strange creeks sounded down the hall. With each one creeping closer to your room, you were the first one to wake to them. You nudged Luffy awake, telling him your suspicions.

Groaning at first, he absentmindedly shooed you away. Through his sleepy eyes, he saw the bedroom door inch open, immediately jolting him awake. Charging at the door, he abruptly swung it open. However, there was no one waiting for him to confront. Taking a step out in the corridor, you urged him to come back to bed and that it must have just been a trick his mind was playing on him.

With the disembodied murmurs brushing past your ears, shivers cascaded down your spine. However, the thrill of mystery was ignited within Luffy, letting the spark of adventure light your way through the remainder of your time spent there. After all, you needed to make the most of the weekend if you were going to unlock some of the wonder this place had to offer.

Zoro: He wouldn’t mind taking this weekend up at the B&B but don’t expect him to hold off on his training. That being said, there was a part of him that was looking forward to the facilities this place had to offer. Being able to unwind after each session held its own appeal and spending that time with you made it all the bit sweeter—even if he didn’t always say it.

Little things started happening after you entered your room: flickering lights in the bathroom and cold spots, neither of which were cause for alarm. With the sounds of hushed laughter coming from down the hall, you paid little mind to the minor inconveniences. Without giving these much thought, your first night blanketed you both. 

Although your dreams had a hold on you, the laughter from before infiltrated them. Waking both of you up, Zoro huffed at how inconsiderate they were being. Throwing his sheets off, the bathroom door slammed shut, causing you to jolt up in bed.

Exchanging puzzling looks, you trailed behind Zoro to investigate. Before opening the door, you paused, straining your ears to catch any sign of life on the other side. When the floorboards groaned, Zoro gave you a smirk. There was no way you were going to chicken out, so together you journeyed out into the darkness ready for just about anything, whether it was in your room or outside waiting for you.

Sanji: He was the one who suggested spending more alone time together, so when you brought up the B&B he was over the moon for the idea. Having a lovely, romantic weekend with just the two of you was all that he could ask for. Unable to contain himself, he began planning out how you’d spend your time there. With so much effort put in, you were truly looking forward to doing each one.

Everything was seen through rose tinted glasses: the antique furniture and the eccentric wallpaper—it was all perfect. As he was unpacking and going on about how excited he was, you went to check out the bathroom. A tiny spider crawled along the basin of the sink and - not wanting to call attention to it - you swept it on a piece of paper and tossed it out the window.

After having completed a few of his events, you fell asleep, breathing soundly as the moonlight casted through the curtains. When the time reached just after midnight, an alarming thud roused Sanji awake. Luckily, you were still sound asleep, although you stirred a bit under the covers. It sounded as if it came from the bathroom. Despite not wanting to wake you, the weight being lifted off the mattress drew you out of your fleeting dream.

Asking him what was wrong, he assured you that everything was fine. Watching him, you could see the apprehension in his step. A sense of unease painted the room the closer Sanji inched towards the bathroom. Bursting in, he promptly flipped the switch ready to tussle anything that’d dare bring you harm. 

Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, he peered over his shoulder to give you the thumbs up. However, an eight-legged creature had found its way on his shoulder, resulting in an ear piercing shriek. Without knowing the full context, you screamed in both confusion and worry as your man came sprinting out of the bathroom, eventually shouting that there was a spider on him.

Usopp: With little to no convincing, he was packed and ready to go before you even had the chance to secure the booking. He adored spending time with you, but there was something special about taking a weekend get-away that made it that much more exciting. Looking up what the area had to offer, you both felt hyped about the trip.

Admittedly, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the place. It wasn’t that there was anything fundamentally wrong with it, but it had a ‘house at the top of the hill’ vibe to it—chilling in some unexplainable way. Even if he had his reservations about it, you looked genuinely happy with it, so he made an attempt to push his doubts aside.

With the bed being surprisingly comfortable, you both drifted off to sleep quickly. As the clock in your room ticked closer to the witching hour, groans sounded throughout the room. Shivering, Usopp was the first to wake. He could see his breath as he sat up looking around the room, trying to figure out if there was a draft coming through somewhere.

The chilling atmosphere crept onto you, nibbling at your exposed skin. Rousing awake, you asked him to close the window. When he didn’t answer, you rolled over to face him and were met with him frozen in fear. Sitting up next to him, you gently touched him asking what was wrong.

As tears trickled down his face, you cautiously looked in the same direction as him. “Don’t you see it?” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Even though you saw a faint outline of something, you told him it was just his imagination partly because you were trying to convince yourself of the same. Although you were brave at times, his fear was wearing off on you. Wanting to prove to him that there was nothing there, you quickly leaned over to your bedside table to turn on the light.

A sharp and panicked gasp escaped him just before the light flickered on. Peering around the room, relief found the both of you. You slept with the lights on the rest of the night.

[eros-aster-photos]

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reels and I have a love-hate (mostly hate) relationship, but this was the Vision (mostly. the audio sync is not perfect but You Understand)

[bananasofthorns]

I'm meant to find the place where all good things begin - Lord Huron, "La Belle Fleur Sauvage"

[click images for better quality! if you use any, please give credit <3]

[narukoibito]

If you’re up for it - i'm not used to seeing you with clothes on.

Harry had no desire to attend yet another Ministry function, but the tone in Robards' voice made it abundantly clear that if he skipped tonight's he would be suffering desk duty so long that he wouldn't even remember what being in the field was like.

But that didn't mean Harry had to actively participate. Which basically resulted in him sulking in the background along the wall, using those stealth skills the Aurors had trained him so diligently on to avoid small talk and intrusive pawing by one of the desperate singles. He shook off Sirius's talks about his lack of social skills (whose fault was that when he had only ever been homeschooled and hidden away until it was time to fulfill a fucked up fate).

Letting his guard down momentarily, he closed his eyes, letting his mind drift back to a few nights again. He'd learned far too early (finding the hidden stash of fan mail) that being the Boy Who Lived meant there would be no shortage of willing participants. He wasn't one for intimacy (Sirius gave him a hard enough time about it), but that didn't mean he didn't have needs. With a good amount of lubrication and a fair dash of loneliness, he found himself at a bar known for discretion.

That was all fine and dandy.

What he hadn't expected was how much that night stuck with him.

Strange enough, she'd been funny. Her quips making his lips twitch in an unfamiliar way. It had been surprisingly easy when they slipped into one of the many rooms upstairs.

A burning ache rose within him. The door had shut, and he had reached out for her, that reckless smirk, the way her eyelashes fluttered at his touch. Hand wound in silky hair. He swore he could still taste her—

His eyes snapped open at the sound of giggling and heels to his right. Shite, the unfortunate owner of said noise was Romilda Vane, the new secretary in the office who would not relent on her advances, no matter how bluntly Harry avoided them.

He ducked to his left, weaving through the crowd. It'd been an hour, and Robards couldn't say he hadn't shown his face.

Harry turned the corner.

"Oof!"

The wind was knocked out of him by some blur of gold and red.

"Sorry," he said, hands automatically reaching out to steady the blur. He was already taking another step toward the exit when a stray glance had him breathless for an entirely different reason.

The redhead pushed the curtain of her hair out of her face. "No, I..." she trailed off when they made eye contact. "Oh."

He was staring. She had disappeared before the morning light crept through the windows, fulfilling her promise of "no fuss." And for the first time, he'd wished differently. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, about the things he wanted to say, if he ever saw her again. He opened his mouth.

"I'm not used to seeing you with your clothes on," she said.

Harry burst out laughing, the tension in his gut unwinding. She grinned, looking tall and proud despite her small stature.

"A welcome change?"

"Hm," she said, her eyes appraising him. "I'm not so sure about that."

He swallowed hard.

"Heading somewhere?" she asked, her eyes following his original path toward the door.

"I suppose it depends. Would you like me to?" His hand was still on her waist, not ready to break contact.

His heart pounded hard at the thought that she might be here with someone.

She smiled, which seemed answer enough until she rose onto her toes. Her lips brushed against his, soft and warm, like sunshine breaking through the clouds.

She eased away, and only then did he realize he had pulled her close.

"That doesn't sound so bad... Are you sure you like these clothes though?" Her hands smoothed out the front of his robes.

"No promises." He grinned at her stupidly.

Before she could respond, a distinctly male and stunned voice, and she turned toward it. "Ginny!"

Ginny...so that was her name.

Harry followed her gaze, surprised to meet the shocked expression on Weasley's face a few paces away. Ron, he thought his name was.

"That'd be my insufferable brother." Her eyes shined with mischief, holding out her hand. "Still game?"

He took it without hesitation. "You bet."

As they walked toward her stupified brother, she asked, casual, "What did you say your name was?" She knew full well they hadn't exchanged names. His grip tightened.

She hadn't known then.

"Harry."

[cuffmeinblack]

Helping Hand

Garreth Weasley x Andrew Larson

Tags: explicit | blowjobs | handjobs

3.7k words

Summary: When Andrew finds Garreth sneaking ingredients from the potions stores, he lets him go instead of throwing the Gryffindor in detention. That second's hesitation will be his undoing, to his great delight.

A/n: The smut nobody asked for. These two are fighting for supremacy in my brain so naturally I just want them to fuck. Expect school slut Garreth and uptight virgin Andrew.

⤍ Garreth Weasley masterlist | Andrew Larson masterlist ⤎

Andrew had seen enough of his classmates’ intimate areas to last him a lifetime. Everett had congratulated him repeatedly on glimpsing Samantha Dale's breasts (of course he did, the pervert), though at the time they were being fondled by a pair of very large hands belonging to Leander Prewett. A strange pairing by any standards, which might have been why Samantha had trailed Andrew the following day, begging him not to tell a soul. Everett had overheard and managed to get some of the more gruesome details from Andrew before he'd managed to escape into the safety of the prefects’ bathroom. Whilst he floated in the perfumed waters, inhaling deeply the scent of lavender and geranium, he tried not to think too much about yesterday's revellation that even Zenobia-bloody-Noke had a little boyfriend, and had been caught by Andrew whilst they snogged behind the greenhouses close to curfew. It seemed as if the whole castle was awash with hormones, like Garreth Weasley had dosed each of its occupants with amortentia. 

Truth be told, if he'd thought this head boy post involved mostly lecturing couples on discretion and telling them to put their clothes back on, he might have thought twice about the position. Some nights he felt like quite the voyeur, turning a corner and becoming flustered by the rhythmic grinding of bodies half hidden in shadow. He was ashamed to admit he'd watched these secret, steamy trysts in the castle corridors and empty classrooms for a few seconds before announcing his presence. It wasn't his fault he was so wound up these days, with no time to seek his own outlet for all this frustration. Exams were coming, tensions were high, and Andrew had only his hand for company on those nights where he'd collapse back on his bed and wish just once that he'd been the one to be caught in the dark with a handsome stranger. Or perhaps not a stranger at all.

His jealousy for his classmates might have been showing now, given the pouty mood he was in. He floated for a little while longer until his fingers resembled prunes before deciding to take matters into his own hands once again, quite literally. It would be a long night, and with any luck, it wouldn't involve any more sightings of nipples. Once dried and dressed, he made his way down to central hall, where those on patrol would be gathered before rounds began. They started half an hour before curfew and stayed well into the night, stumbling back to their dormitories for a less than satisfactory night’s sleep. The job could feel rather thankless, if it weren’t for the glowing recommendation he expected to receive from the Deputy Headmistress, a priceless addition to any student’s résumé.

A cluster of prefects soon came into view, all huddled near the fountain and chatting animatedly. Andrew’s footfalls announced his approach, and they turned and fell quiet.

“Alright, Andrew?” Eric asked, stifling a yawn.

“Fine, fine.” He was not fine, in fact he was so pent up he’d much rather be shut in his dormitory with the curtains around his bed drawn tight. Not even that bath had been enough to unwind the tension that seemed a constant companion these days. Andrew’s gaze drifted over the other faces as he tried not to linger too long on the shapely curve of Poppy Sweeting’s chest. “Eric, Cressida, you’ll be covering the bell tower wing tonight. There have been a few incidents recently along by the flying lawn—it seems some of the fifth year Herbology students enjoy smoking and flying, so see to it that you swing back around there a few times on patrol.”

Once all the assignments were given, the group parted and Poppy joined Andrew to patrol the library annex. It was one of the easier areas, unless Madam Scribner requested help to evacuate Peeves from the library, and Poppy was one of his favourite prefect partners. They chatted as they walked, mostly about schoolwork and beasts, but it was lighthearted and casual, never straying too far into personal territory. By the second turn about the annex, Andrew had loosened up slightly, though the same couldn’t be said for Poppy who was looking paler by the second.

“Are you okay, Poppy? You look a little peaky,” Andrew asked, reaching out a hand for her forehead but thinking better of it.

“Honestly? I feel quite sick. I think it might have been something I ate,” she said, clutching her stomach.

“Maybe you should get some rest, I can finish up here alone. Do you want me to take you to the hospital wing?”

“No, no, I don’t want to get stuck in there with Nurse Blainey all night. I think I should head back to my dormitory, though. Thank you, Andrew.”

“Of course. Take care, Poppy.”

Andrew watched her leave with a pang of regret, her brunette bob swinging lightly as she disappeared around a corner. Now he was alone, with nothing to distract him but the ghosts, most of whom preferred to keep their distance. With a sigh, he made his way along the corridor, occasionally stopping with his ear pricked for any sign of movement from the classrooms. All was quiet, suspiciously so. Only half an hour until the end of his patrol, he’d almost pegged it as his first uneventful night since becoming head boy, when he noticed the door to the potions classroom was slightly ajar. This wasn’t entirely unusual in itself, given Professor Sharp’s tendency to stay up late working, but instead of a warm glow of candlelight emanating from within, the room was almost pitch black.

Intrigued, Andrew pushed the door, wand raised just in case—he’d been on the receiving end of some nasty jinxes when catching students out of bed. A shuffle of footsteps halted him in his tracks, coming from the potions store room. This door was also open, though there was the distinctive hue of a Lumos charm spilling out of the crack.

“Professor Sharp?” he called.

“Shit!” The reply was quiet and muffled, preceding a smash of glass and the extinguishing of light.

“Who’s in here?” Andrew asked, casting his own charm to light the way and striding over to the storeroom. He shouldn’t have been surprised who greeted him when the door swung open, but the grin on his face was quite unexpected. “Garreth? What are you stealing this time?”

The redhead was standing in the middle of the room looking rather guilty, and Andrew couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his trousers. Not the kind he’d encountered on countless boys caught fraternising in the castle, but a suspiciously full pocket.

“I’m offended by the insinuation. I was just out for an evening stroll!”

Andrew cocked his head and gave him an exasperated look. “You can’t charm yourself out of this one.”

“Please, Andrew. I’ve already lost twenty house points this week and I’m not exactly in Sharp’s good books right now.”

“What else is new?”

Garreth gave him a look reminiscent of a wounded puffskein: head tilted down; green eyes wide and glittering; full lips turned into a pout… Andrew swallowed and dropped his wand to his side, hoping that Garreth wouldn’t catch the blush now crossing his cheeks. It really had been far too long since he’d had any action (never), but even Andrew had to admit that Garreth was devastatingly handsome, and had perhaps enjoyed the view of him bending over his cauldron once or twice (every single potions lesson).

“Fine, I won’t hand you in. You have to put back whatever you stole, though,” he said, pointedly looking at Garreth’s pocket, which was a mistake given his current condition. He almost groaned at the wand-lit curve of the boy's breeches.

“Really? I mean, I’m grateful…” Garreth pulled a handful of fwooper feathers out of his pocket and Andrew averted his gaze. “Got a soft spot for me?”

Garreth had clearly said it in jest, yet Andrew’s smile was somewhat awkward in return, his cheeks burning so hot he could have lit a candle on his skin. That damned freckled menace with his silky voice and bright smile might just be his downfall. 

“Do you?” Garreth persisted, abandoning the feathers on the table and stepping closer to Andrew. His tone was teasing yet his smile was earnest, the kind of smile that made Andrew want to admit to every lewd thought he’d ever had of him. 

“No, I’m just eager to finish my rounds and I don’t want to have to deal with the paperwork,” he muttered. He frowned and set his jaw, suddenly far too tense and far too aroused by the mere presence of Garreth.

“Merlin, you’re wound up. You work too hard, Andrew.”

“Yes, well, that does tend to happen when one is head boy,” he replied rather testily. 

Garreth stepped forward again, his gaze unnerving in its intensity. He seemed to be studying every inch of Andrew’s face. His nervous fingers twitched around his wand and the light extinguished quite unintentionally. 

“Garreth.”

Shit. It had meant to be a warning but had sounded like a…a whine. Andrew panicked, contemplated just running and leaving Garreth up to his mischief and hoped that Professor Sharp came back to a fully stocked storeroom come morning. He might have if his legs still worked.

When Garreth spoke, Andrew could hear the smile plastered on his face even if he could barely see it in the darkness. “I've always thought you were cute, you know.”

He felt Garreth's breath on his cheek and the warmth of his close proximity. Those calloused hands from hours of hard potion brewing were braced either side of Andrew, planted firmly on the rows of bottles and ingredients. He didn't dare think about what those dexterous fingers could achieve. Still, despite all the obvious signs, he wasn't prepared for the kiss. Garreth had aimed for his cheek but Andrew had turned at the last second and caught his lips, resulting in a sloppy sort of peck on his lower lip. Garreth chuckled and mortifyingly, pulled away. 

“Thanks for not ratting me out. I owe you.”

“No problem,” Andrew mumbled, his brain apparently reduced to mush. If he'd been able to think of anything but the feel of Garreth Weasley's lips and his cinnamon-scented skin, he might have taken fifty house points for having the gall to seduce the head boy. The fact of the matter was, Andrew was absolute putty in Garreth's hands. A fine job he was doing enforcing school rules, he thought bitterly.

Garreth hesitated just for a moment, as if  he too could sense the desperation radiating from Andrew's unbearably tense body. The opportunity had presented itself and Andrew took it, grabbing a fistful of fabric and pulling Garreth back towards him with unexpected force. Their lips found each other easily enough in the dim light, and Andrew opened his mouth at the first flick of tongue with a quiet moan that did nothing to assert his authority. Far from it, Andrew could have given Garreth a month's worth of detentions and he doubted the Gryffindor would have been deterred. If Andrew was hungry, Garreth seemed practically starving, all tongues and roaming hands. Garreth used his taller stature and a firm hold to manoeuvre Andrew away from the shelves until his thighs hit something hard behind him. He stumbled slightly, their lips still fused and tongues locked in an infinite caress. Fingers skimmed Andrew's hips and he shuddered, involuntarily arching his back in invitation. Garreth smiled against his mouth and hummed an approving sort of sound as his fingers found bare and heated skin. 

The air was stifling, Andrew's clothes so damn suffocating. His face, if he were visible, must have been a shade of red resembling a beetroot. Never had he been so thoroughly aroused and so completely willing to throw away every deeply-ingrained sense of propriety as when Garreth reached around to grab his arse, pulling their bodies flush to reveal the hardness of his erection against his own. Andrew just whimpered and contemplated begging as he threaded his fingers in the boy's copper mane. Unbidden, a thought of Garreth's warm and inviting mouth wrapped around his cock made him twitch in anticipation.

“You really are wound tight,” Garreth said, moving his tongue to Andrew's pulse, teeth grazing lightly down his neck. His hands were busily working to release Andrew from the confines of his breeches. He helped him along the way, a sudden rush of nerves halting his breath as his knuckles brushed Garreth's hard length. This was really happening, Andrew thought somewhat giddily. His first sexual encounter was to be with Garreth in the potions storeroom—how unexpected, and completely wondrous. Another groan rumbled through his chest as his breeches finally fell open and Garreth wasted no time wrapping his fingers around his impossibly hard cock.

“Fuck Andrew, you're big.”

“Am I?” he replied breathlessly. Merlin, he wouldn't last long if all Garreth had to do was squeeze to make him squirm.

Garreth laughed again and whispered a ‘yeah’ against his skin as he delved back against the crook of his neck. Andrew's head fell back, his eyes closing to the semi-darkness as he lost himself in the rhythmic stroking. Garreth's grip was firm and sure, simultaneously offering Andrew much-needed relief and winding him tighter than ever. Every tug built him up to explode in what he would assume would be a most spectacular fashion. His hips rocked almost mindlessly, vaguely aware of the sting of Garreth's mouth against his neck, the trailing hand up his stomach. Andrew was mumbling some nonsense that made the other boy groan and next thing he knew the heavy weight against his chest was gone and a rush of cool air startled him from his stupor.

“Wait, wha-?”

“Well you did ask so nicely,” Garreth replied from somewhere on the floor. 

Apparently whatever he'd said had prompted Garreth to drop to his knees and without much warning, Andrew ascended to heaven. Wetness and blissful warmth enveloped him, just the tip at first with a teasing swipe of tongue that made him dizzy. He rolled his hips, seeking more, and Garreth took him all with an ear-splitting moan that had Andrew holding onto his hair for dear life. It took all his waning self control not to hold him in place, not to give into the temptation to thrust deep into his throat. Nothing had ever felt so good as Garreth's mouth; so often used to charm and joke in such a genial manner, it was hard to believe it being used in such a downright obscene way. Not to mention that tongue, currently swirling over his head like he was enjoying an Andrew-flavoured lollipop. For the first time since extinguishing his wand, Andrew wished he could see, just to admire the redhead’s lips wrapped around him for a second or two.

“Garreth…”

“Mmm…yeah?”

“So good,” Andrew sighed mindlessly.

The chuckle Garreth made vibrated through Andrew's cock and his fingers entwined in those luscious curls even deeper. Garreth moaned and Andrew tugged again, eliciting the same response. The realisation dawned that he liked being manhandled in such a way, hitting Andrew like a stampeding graphorn and damn near had him spilling into Garreth's mouth. He was standing on a precipice, before him an abyss that beckoned every fibre of his being. He could let himself fall, be consumed by that blissful oblivion, or he could turn and run. The latter might have been more sensible, given that he'd have to look Garreth in the face at some point over the subsequent days. The Gryffindor busy sucking him off apparently had other ideas.

“You can come in my mouth, you know.”

Andrew was stunned into silence by the way Garreth suggested that so blithely before returning the suction to his cock. There was no stopping the dizzying tightening in his abdomen as he reached his climax. Andrew succumbed to the inevitable with a cry and a tug of hair, his hot release exploding into Garreth's waiting mouth. Breathless, he rocked his hips in time to the pulses from his cock, the lips enveloping him keeping a tight seal until every last drop was spent. Andrew's arm was shaking from the force of his orgasm when he delved into his pocket to retrieve his wand. “L-Lumos.”

The room was cast into a steady white light, harsh shadows gathering from the obstruction of their bodies. Now he could finally see Garreth, knelt before him with fingers still curled around Andrew's length. He looked…sublime, quite frankly, despite or perhaps because of how dishevelled his hair now was, copper strands falling haphazardly over his forehead. His glistening lips struck Andrew as completely obscene, knowing that he'd been licking Andrew's spend from them only moments before. Garreth looked up at him with a smile and he thought he saw hunger in those mossy eyes. Heart still pounding, Andrew watched keenly as Garreth straightened up to full height—a couple of inches that felt like a whole foot more than Andrew—and pressed his lips on his. The insistent nudge of Garreth's erection brought Andrew's thoughts back into focus, and nerves almost threatened to overwhelm him. Garreth kissed him gently, though he felt an urgency simmering just below the surface in the twitch of his muscles and shuddering breaths—the next thing he knew, his hand had been guided to the stiff length straining against Garreth's trousers.

“It's just like touching yourself,” Garreth muttered against his lips, unbuttoning himself until there was nothing between them—the hot press of their lower bodies and subtle scent of musk flooded Andrew's senses. Andrew nodded, but he was nothing like him, really. Garreth was thicker, heavier, with a smattering of freckles covering his shaft that made Andrew salivate. His fingers wrapped firmly around the girth and Andrew began stroking slowly just as he would himself, his eyes on Garreth's face and attuned to every expression.

“Yes…faster…,” Garreth sighed.

Andrew picked up the pace, concentrating hard on the angle, the pressure, the rhythm. He knew he'd hit that sweet spot when Garreth's eyes rolled back into his head. Watching him lose himself by Andrew's hand whilst moaning softly into his mouth was exhilarating. What little remained of Garreth's composure shattered when Andrew began kissing his neck, using his teeth and sucking the skin just as Garreth had done to him. Even his skin tasted good, as if he'd bathed in spices. As soon as Andrew thought to himself that he didn't want this to end, it had, with a spurt of warmth over his hand and Garreth moaning his name. Shadows danced around the room as Andrew's wand hand shook with excess adrenaline and his head collapsed onto Garreth's shoulder. Then the panic set in.

“Fuck.”

“I didn't expect that sort of language from you,” Garreth chuckled. ”It was fantastic though, wasn't it?”

“No. I mean yes, but I need to get back on patrol.”

“Right, your uh…head boy duties. Shame.”

The two cleaned up and dressed in silence; not awkward, but comfortably hazy and content. Once they'd attempted to fix one another's hair, Andrew hastily turned to escape out of the door, hoping that nobody had noticed his absence. He hesitated at the handle, the brass cooling his sweaty palms as he tried to form a coherent sentence.

“You won't tell anyone, will you?” Andrew asked, turning to Garreth.

“Of course not. And you won't tell anyone that I was here?”

“I won't, just this one time.”

“If, hypothetically, you were to catch me here again, what would you do?” Garreth asked, smiling.

“Goodnight, Garreth.” Andrew chuckled and left the room, straightening his robes. He made it out into the corridor before his face broke into a bright grin.

-

Andrew had been worried that being in Garreth's vicinity would be unbearably awkward after what they'd done, but apart from the redhead tossing him a cheeky wink whenever he walked by, he was his usual cheery self, and didn't seem to avoid Andrew at all. If anything, they talked more often now. Andrew himself felt more comfortable, less awkwardly in-awe of the handsome Gryffindor, and dare he say he'd adopted a kind of quiet confidence in the days afterward. Garreth had thoroughly succeeded in unwinding him, or as Everett so colourfully put it, Andrew had ‘lost the stick up his arse’. 

For all Garreth's loudness, his garrulous manner, he'd been perfectly quiet about their little tryst just as he'd promised. Andrew was eternally grateful, of course; he couldn't fathom how furiously he'd be stripped of his title if Professor Weasley found out he'd been fondling her nephew in the potions storeroom. Strangely, Andrew didn't regret a single minute of what had transpired, rule breaking and all.

After their shared Charms lesson the following week, Andrew found Garreth jotting in his journal outside the classroom, satchel slung over his shoulder and leaning against a wall in his usual effortlessly handsome way. It seemed like a good a time as any for Andrew to muster the courage to give him the parcel stuffed in his robe pocket.

“Garreth?”

“Hm? Oh, hello Andrew!” Tucking his journal away, Garreth gave Andrew his full attention.

“I've got something for you,” Andrew said, holding the nondescript brown parcel out for him.

“What's this?” He ripped over the packaging right in front of Andrew, revealing a riot of pink and purple tufts. “Fwooper feathers?” Garreth smiled his bright and genuine smile, and Andrew was glad he'd spent a good few galleons on the lot.

“For your discretion.”

“You're paying me?”

“No!” Andrew gasped, paling.

“I'm joking,” Garreth laughed, placing a warm hand on his arm. “Thanks, Andrew. I'd never tell anyone, you know.”

Still recovering from the shock, Andrew smiled and turned to leave, but Garreth's hand was still firmly planted on his bicep.

“Hey, want to grab a drink at The Three Broomsticks?” the Gryffindor blurted out.

“Like a…” A date? Andrew wondered.

“Doesn't have to be, but yes.”

Andrew almost toppled over at the unexpected invitation. He'd never intended or expected for what had happened that night to lead to something more. Truthfully he'd hoped, but Garreth seemed content with various casual encounters; his conquests were no secret around the castle. Maybe Andrew had made more of an impression on him than he'd thought.

“I'd prefer a cup of tea at Steeply’s if it's all the same to you. I've never had a taste for butterbeer,” Andrew admitted.

“Really? Well then I retract the offer.”

Andrew smiled and shook his head. “Saturday?”

“See you on Saturday, if you don't catch me out of bounds before then.”

[yourmomsawh0r3]

hogwarts

draco malfoy x gryffindor female reader

Y/N had always been on Draco Malfoy's radar, but not in a way anyone would expect. As a Gryffindor student, Y/N embodied everything Draco was supposed to despise. Yet, something about her drew him in, and he found himself lashing out at her more than anyone else.

It was a cold evening at Hogwarts, and the castle was eerily quiet. Most students had retreated to their common rooms, but Y/N found solace in the Clock Tower, away from the prying eyes and incessant chatter. She needed a moment to herself, a break from the overwhelming day.

Draco had noticed her slipping out of the Gryffindor common room and decided to follow her. Curiosity and a strange pull he couldn't quite explain led him up the winding stairs to the Clock Tower. He watched her for a moment, silhouetted against the night sky, her hair glowing in the moonlight.

"Out after curfew, are we?" Draco's voice echoed through the empty space, making Y/N jump.

"Malfoy," she said, turning to face him. "What do you want?"

He stepped closer, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just checking on you, making sure you're not up to anything… dangerous."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Since when do you care about what I'm doing?"

Draco hesitated, the smirk faltering for a second. "Maybe I care more than you think."

Before Y/N could respond, Draco closed the gap between them, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. His usual bravado wavered as he leaned in, his lips barely brushing hers. To his surprise, Y/N didn't pull away. Instead, she closed the distance, kissing him softly.

Startled by the intensity of his own emotions, Draco pulled back abruptly, his eyes wide with confusion. Without another word, he turned and fled, leaving Y/N standing alone, her heart pounding in her chest.

The next day in Potions class, Draco's mind was a whirl of conflicting feelings. He saw Y/N talking and laughing with Ron Weasley, and jealousy flared up inside him. Unable to control his anger, he stormed out of the classroom, leaving a puzzled Professor Snape and an amused class behind.

That night, Y/N decided to unwind in the Prefects' Bathroom. The warm water and scented bubbles were a welcome relief from the day's chaos. She closed her eyes, letting herself relax for the first time in what felt like forever.

A soft creak echoed in the bathroom, and Y/N's eyes snapped open. Draco stood at the entrance, his gaze fixed on her. She instantly covered her chest, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice shaky.

He smirked, stepping closer. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. About last night." His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned in. "Can I join you?"

Without waiting for a response, Draco began to undress, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N's breath caught in her throat as he slid into the water beside her, the heat of his body warming the already hot bath.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" Draco said softly, his fingers trailing along her arm. "I've never met anyone like you."

Y/N's heart raced as she looked into his eyes, seeing a vulnerability she hadn't noticed before. "Why do you always have to bully me then?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco sighed, his hand cupping her cheek. "Because I'm an idiot. I didn't know how else to get your attention."

He leaned in, kissing her gently, and this time, Y/N didn't hesitate to kiss him back. The water around them rippled as they moved closer, the boundaries between them dissolving.

"You're beautiful," Draco murmured against her lips. "And I'm sorry for everything."

Y/N smiled, her hands tangling in his hair. "It's okay, Draco. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers.

"Stop running away."

Draco nodded, his eyes filled with a determination she'd never seen before. "I promise."

His hands moved down her back, sending shivers up her spine as he deepened the kiss. Y/N’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but she didn’t want him to stop. Draco’s lips trailed down her neck, leaving a burning path in their wake. Y/N arched her back, pressing closer to him.

Draco’s voice was low and rough. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Y/N.”

She met his gaze, her own desire mirrored in his eyes. “Then take me, Draco.”

With a growl of possessiveness, Draco captured her lips again, his hands exploring her body with newfound urgency. The water sloshed around them, the world outside forgotten as they lost themselves in each other.

“You’re mine,” Draco whispered, his breath hot against her skin.

“Yours,” Y/N gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

In the steamy haze of the Prefects’ Bathroom, they finally gave in to the feelings they had been denying for so long. Draco’s touch was both tender and demanding, and Y/N responded with equal fervor. The connection between them was electric, a spark that had been waiting to ignite.

As the night wore on, their whispered confessions and soft moans echoed in the chamber, a testament to the passion that had always simmered beneath the surface. And as they held each other close, the boundaries of house rivalry and past misunderstandings melted away, leaving only the undeniable bond between two hearts.

[nordschleifes]

extra — agua

➝ drop by drop, charlie discovers she can overflow

➝ word count: 2,9k

➝ warnings: parental relations, mentions of crimes and substance abuse

➝ author's note: this one shot takes place after monza, the events of which are mentioned in chapter 8. the title is inspired by chanel's song of same name and by my own wish to prepare you for what is coming in october.

It was a perfect Wednesday morning in Lugano. Charlie had accepted Fernando’s invitation to spend the week between Monza and Singapore with him in Switzerland with little hesitation, and was having a wonderful time. That morning, she had woken up a bit earlier than Fernando, and decided to enjoy the early-morning sun on the upstairs balcony before he got up. The temperature was pleasant and the sun was shining brightly, making the waters of Lake Lugano sparkle.

As she leaned against the railing, gazing across the water at the other houses dotting the hillside on the opposite shore, Charlie was lost in her own thoughts. She couldn't stop thinking about the events of the previous Sunday, when Fernando sought her support after such a frustrating race. They didn't talk much more after she assured him that she would never forget him, limiting herself to exchanging a kiss before falling asleep while holding each other, but that didn’t mean that Charlie didn’t have some unanswered questions that she’d been turning over in her mind ever since.

Charlie still couldn't understand why Fernando had gone to her room. Since his time with McLaren, Fernando’s routine normally was to retire to his hotel after debriefs to unwind and reflect by himself, unless he flew home straight away. But that night, he had looked for her, asked her to stay with him, as if her presence alone could help ease his frustration.

“Maybe he really does trust me,” Charlie thought as she watched a trail of white wake forming behind a boat skimming across the lake’s surface. The idea of ​​being someone Fernando trusted was a strange feeling, especially considering that until recently, she thought Fernando despised her.

Truthfully, Charlie wondered if that was still the case. There was evidence to the contrary, like their ongoing sexual relationship, but there was still part of her that thought it may just be purely physiological.  Fernando sought pleasure, as did she. There didn’t need to be any emotional commitment beyond that, which made it easy to get carried away in the heat of the moment, at least according to an article she’d read about people having sexual relationships with people they didn’t like. 

Behind her, the sound of soft footsteps made Charlie's shoulders tense in anticipation, but she was still surprised when she felt a hand slide down her stomach and pull her in close, or the warmth of a chest against her back.

— Is everything okay, nena? — Fernando asked, brushing some stray strands of hair away from her face.

— Yeah. I was just thinking — she murmured in response, feeling his lips against her shoulder, placing soft kisses on her skin.

— About what?

Charlie clenched her jaw. It wasn’t something she wanted to broach with him right now, not when she had started enjoying the moment, leaning her head against Fernando as he trailed kisses over her bare shoulders, exposed by the tank top she’d worn to bed.

— Nothing much — she said, placing one of her hands over his.

— Are you sure? If there’s something on your mind, you can tell me. You know you can trust me.

Trust. Hearing that word from him made her heart feel like it had skipped a beat.

— You wouldn’t understand — Charlie said.

— Of course I would.

She turned her face slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

— I thought you said that you didn't understand the English, since we don't have the same character and energy as Latinos…

Fernando smirked.

— I don't mind making a little more effort to understand you, nena — Fernando said, kissing her again — Tell me, what were you thinking?

— That it feels like a good day to get out and do something outdoors — Charlie lied, looking back toward the lake — You know, it's not always sunny on my days off, I have to take advantage.

— Do you want to go somewhere today? — he asked softly.

— Well, if we can, of course, you must have your plans for the day, I don't want to distract you from your routine.

Charlie felt Fernando laugh against her skin.

— You never distract me, mi cielo — he said, spinning her on her axis to face him. Placing her hands on his chest, Charlie felt a flurry of butterflies in her stomach when her eyes met his — I already told you that, remember?

— Yeah — she said, smiling. Fernando placed a tender kiss on the tip of her nose in response. 

— Then go get dressed, nena. We will leave in half an hour.

With a nod and a not-so-subtle butt squeeze, Charlie went back inside to get dressed. After putting on some jeans and one of her favorite Brighton t-shirts, she went to the bathroom, where she fixed her hair and put on some mascara, wondering if she should wear a hat. However, she chose not to, going downstairs to the garage with just her cellphone and a pair of sunglasses. Fernando was standing next to his motorcycle — an Aprilia Tuono V4, he’d told her. Charlie had discovered his passion for motorbikes in Monaco, when he insisted on taking her for a ride on his RS 660, which, although a stunning piece of machinery, in Charlie’s eyes, was not made to be the most comfortable for passengers. However, it did give her an excuse to be as close as possible to Fernando, hanging onto his waist and pressed into his back while the wind whipped at her face.

— Are we taking the motorcycle?

— Si, nena — he replied, taking two leather jackets from a nearby coat wardrobe — If we're going to have an adventure, we have to do it right.

Fernando handed her one of the jackets, and she put it on, waiting as Fernando maneuvered the bike into position and opened the garage door. She climbed onto the back seat as he held the bike steady, hanging tightly onto his waist as they took off down the driveway.

They rode through the hills at a surprisingly leisurely speed, given how quickly Charlie knew the bike was capable of going. The landscape was breathtaking, the plants swaying as they went around the winding curves and passed through the charming villages that populated the outskirts of the city. After a stop at a bakery on the roadside for a quick snack, and another to refuel the bike, Fernando turned down a small road, which led to the edge of Lake Lugano, where he stopped the bike for them to rest.

They shed their helmets and sat on a patch of grass close to the shore. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Charlie was enjoying the sound of the water softly lapping against the shore, the slight rush of the breeze ruffling her bangs, and the honking of greylag geese bobbing on the water near the shore. The sight of the water stretching to the horizon made Charlie smile a little.

— From here, it really looks like an ocean — she murmured.

— What? — Fernando asked. Looking to the side, she met his curious gaze. — You think?

— Ah, I remembered that a… Friend of mine. Alyson, that’s her name, we studied at university together. She moved to America after graduation and told me that the city she lives in is near a lake that she swore was an ocean when she first saw it — Charlie explained, looking at the water again — I thought it was nonsense, that it wasn't possible for a lake to look like an ocean, but I suppose she’s right.

— I never thought this lake was very big. How big is the lake by her?

— She lives near a few of them, from what she said. She lives near Detroit. Have you ever been there?

— Yes, once. A few years ago, when I was doing WEC with Toyota, they asked me to do a launch presentation for the Supra at their big auto show. I remember seeing a big river by my hotel, but I was not there very long.

Charlie closed her eyes to soak in her surroundings some more. She could hear the chirping of songbirds from the stand of trees behind her and the breeze gently shaking the leaves. As she felt the sun warming her face, she felt like every muscle in her body was starting to relax. It felt familiar — being in a beautiful place, sitting next to someone she had started to care for deeply. She opened her eyes again.

— Do you know what else this reminds me of? — she murmured, and Fernando shook his head in response — Brighton, in a way. I mean, this isn’t the ocean, but it reminds me of going to the beach with my grandparents. We always went to spend the day at Rottingdean Beach. We always ate ice cream and my grandfather would dive into the sea with me, even though the water was cold.

— I thought you didn't like water — Fernando said softly, a playful smile on his lips.

— Well, if it stays where it belongs, I have no problem with it — Charlie replied — And, in Brighton, the sea generally stays where it belongs.

Fernando laughed, running his hand through his hair, which was just as disheveled from his helmet as hers was.

— What else did you do in Brighton? — he asked.

— We would go to see my grandfather's family, his brothers, his nephews…

— And your mother, I assume?

Hearing the word ‘mother’ made Charlie’s stomach lurch.

— No — Charlie replied, looking at the water again — Not Deborah.

Her discomfort must have been evident, considering Fernando slid closer, wrapping one arm around her waist. The thumb moving over the jacket Charlie was wearing was comforting, a sign that Fernando was listening to her.

— She didn't live there?

— No.

— Where did she live?

— In Northampton, until I was five. After that, she moved to London and lives there to this day.

— Do you see her often?

Charlie grimaced.

— No. I can count on one hand the times I've seen her in the last fifteen years.

— Why? Did something happen between you two?

She looked at Fernando, feeling a strange weight in her chest.

— Yes. I was born.

The driver blinked, looking confused. Sighing, Charlie avoided his gaze, fixing her eyes on the surface of the lake instead.

— Deborah got pregnant with me when she was 17. She fell in with the wrong crowd when she started secondary school. She had always been, you know, well-mannered, and it started with little things, like skipping classes, nicking a pair of earrings or some makeup from a shop here and there, but it moved on to more serious things, using drugs, hanging around nightclubs, the sorts of things lots of rebellious teenagers did in the 80’s — she said — She and my grandparents got into a lot of fights about it, so she moved in with her seedy boyfriend at the time and he got her pregnant. When she found out she was expecting, she at least had the sense to stop talking to her friends and moved back in with my grandparents. She wanted to terminate the pregnancy, or put me up for adoption, but my grandparents didn’t like that idea. They were pretty traditional, you know, so they helped look after her and me when I was a baby.

Charlie swiped at her eyes, trying to focus on what she was saying and not how hard the memories were hitting her.

— They sacrificed a lot for Deborah. My grandparents believed that becoming a mother would help her get her life back on track, in a way, that's what happened — she sniffed — Deborah went back to school to finish her GCSEs, got a job, enrolled in uni part-time, and left all her mistakes behind, including me. She even ended up going to law school eventually, became a barrister, and last I heard she’s teaching law at UCL. She did all of that because she left me behind.

— Nena — Fernando stammered.

— She didn't care about me. Deborah always saw me as a mistake, a reminder of a time of her life that she’d rather forget. Over time, I stopped seeing her as a mother too — Charlie said bitterly — She wasn't at either of my uni graduations, for my bachelors’ or my masters’. I think the last birthday present she sent me was a Spice Girls CD when I was eight.

— Did you like it?

— I hated the Spice Girls — she muttered, making Fernando laugh. His reaction made Charlie smile a little.

— She did not know? — Fernando asked.

— Probably not, and even if she knew I didn't like them, she didn’t care. Deborah was always like that — she said — Daniel, the man she married a few years later, always tried to get her to, I don’t know, spend time with me. He’s a nice man, and I think he felt bad for me, and wanted me to be part of their family, and maybe have me move in with them eventually, but…

— She didn't want you to?

— I didn't want to. I didn't want to play the role of daughter to a woman who never wanted to be my mother — Charlie replied — We eventually had a huge fight about it, as you could imagine, and that was the end of that.

— So, you never lived with Deborah?

— No. It didn't make sense to try to fit into the family she built with actual love and affection, considering that I'm “a mistake from her wasted youth” — she murmured, lowering her gaze to the grass they were sitting on.

A gulf of silence opened between them. Charlie was sure Fernando didn’t quite know what to say, and she didn’t blame him. She knew what she had said was harsh, but there was no point in softening the truth about what Deborah had thought about her.

She was a mistake from the beginning, a consequence of a night when everything had gone wrong.

— You're not a mistake, Charlie — Fernando whispered.

She smiled sadly, without looking away.

— You don't have to lie to make me happy, Fer. I know what I am to her, that won't change.

— But… that’s not what you are. You're not a mistake for your grandparents, for your friends — the driver said, taking a hand to her face, pulling it so that she looked him in the eyes — You're not a mistake for me.

Before she could respond, Fernando pulled Charlie in for a delicate kiss on the lips. It was as if he knew there was an answer prepared on the tip of her tongue, full of the venom he was willing to swallow without a second thought.

A few seconds later, he pulled back, brushing his nose against hers.

— You are my greatest asset — he said softly.

Closing her eyes, Charlie placed his forehead against Fernando's, absorbing those words.

Until recently, there were three unwavering truths in Charlie’s life: the first was that Fernando Alonso a horrid prick who coasted by on the two world championships he won before Charlie had even started university, and made his horrid career decisions everyone else's problem; the second was that the only success in her life was her career, which was made all the more complicated by the first certainty. Finally, any show of vulnerability would make her seem weak in the eyes of her colleagues, and make it seem like she didn’t deserve her position after all, that women weren’t cut out for engineering or motorsport, both of which she loved enough to build her life around.

As if by magic, the same Fernando that was the reason she started going to therapy, who she had called every profanity under the sun, turned out to be a kind and sweet man. He was the one who picked up her pieces and helped her glue them together, appreciating every little piece even though the sharp edges could hurt him. He was the one who showed her that vulnerability wasn't necessarily bad, that anyone could be vulnerable, even the most ruthless driver on the grid.

Fernando had turned her world upside down. But, as incredible as it may seem, that was the angle of vision that Charlie had been looking for her entire life. The perfect point of view.

They returned home after spending a bit more time on the shore of the lake, talking as they watched the ducks and geese waddle about, and boats floating by near the horizon. Charlie was silent the entire drive back to Fernando’s house, her mind busy with thoughts about everything she’d told him, and the way he’d responded - perfectly sweet, gentle, and earnest, just like the way he kissed her.

Her mind was still full of questions when they arrived back in his garage. As she watched him take off his helmet and jacket, she wondered if she was worthy of this kindness, and if the fact that she desired it was some sort of weakness. 

— Nena? — Fernando asked, breaking her out of her own thoughts. Looking at him, Charlie found him with a raised eyebrow — Is everything okay?

— Yes, I was just thinking.

He smiled.

— Again?

— Well, one of us has to. God knows it’s not you.

Fernando approached, placing his hands on her face. He still smelled faintly of the lake breeze from their ride back to his house; like driftwood and willow trees.

— You're very funny, you know that? And lucky too, because I — he hesitated for a second — Like you.

— Do you? — now it was her turn to cock her eyebrow at him. 

— A lot, nena — Fernando simply replied, kissing her forehead — I think… more than I should.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Cryptid Biology Season 2: Mabon

[Previous entry in the series: Here. After setting up for a special event, Bea feels like ditching the party like she did during Litha, but a worried Mountain convinces her to try and enjoy the results of her hard work, and Rain helps her unwind afterwards. Somehow this became angst. Somehow.] Below the cut.

The first day of Autumn brings a strange, new life to the abbey.

The siblings rise early, excited, and set out onto the grounds to relax and play to their hearts content; It's Mabon, and one of the siblings' preferred holidays, thus no one has to work today, nor tomorrow, or until noon on the third day of the season.

Bea, too, has been given the day off, but finds herself restless.

Invited to the main building for breakfast, along with the other members of staff, who usually take their lunch in their offices, rooms, or, in Bea's case, outside, she sits among the siblings, listening to them chatter ceaselessly about this or that around bites of food, only stopping when Copia -or "Frater Imperator" as he's now called, though she likely will never call him that just out of general defiance- moves to the front of the hall to speak.

Admittedly, Bea only half listens to what he has to say, and not entirely because she finds him to be a bore; While she'd normally avoid coming to this sort of thing, she felt as if she deserved a nice warm breakfast made by somebody else after she'd played hell trying to get everything set up for today.

It had been her, along with a choice few siblings of sin and staff members that had thrown everything together both inside and outside of the abbey for the celebration.

She'd spent the better part of the last week laying out a map of where everything should go, shifting things around so they needn't go so far as to alter the landscape, and even laid out woodchips to make a proper trail through the event so that neither the siblings nor their guests would have to walk through wet grass to view the various activity and craft stalls.

It had been a lot of work, albeit no more than she was used to in terms of knowledge or skill, but it was tedious, tiring work, and Bea had reached her limit by the time they stuck that last tent pole into the ground.

Now, her body ached and she wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed, but, at the same time, she felt brimming with energy.

One might mistakenly call it excitement, but Bea does not cope well with such emotions, and instead would call it anxiety.

As Copia speaks, she can't seem to make herself calm down, even with one voice filling the air, his over the top antics and joyful tone do nothing to alleviate the immense stress she feels knowing that if something about the event's set up or aesthetics get criticized, she simply doesn't have the mental bandwidth to stop herself from crying.

She pokes at her yogurt, the only thing she seems to be able to stomach, the smell of everything else combined together leaving her a touch nauseous despite, under normal circumstances, sounding delicious.

Bea wouldn't say it's rare for her to get anxious about her work being judged; And when it is judged, usually it's positive, but lately she can't shake even the smallest slight... and she isn't entirely sure why.

Everything -this event, being around so many people, life- feels like too much.

When she feels her stomach turn again, Bea leans forward on the table, clearing her spot and sets her head down atop her folded arms, taking a deep breath before closing her eyes.

Before long, a large, warm hand settles on her back, and she startles, eyes cracking open slightly as she takes in the sight of Mountain settling down beside her, his fuzzy, unglamoured face scrunched with worry.

"Are you alright?" he whispers, though it's hard to hear him as the siblings resume their conversations.

Bea inhales slowly.

"Just... thinking a lot." she says, and the ghoul nods, "I think I'm going to sit this one out, big guy..."

Mountain frowns.

"Don't give me the puppy dog eyes, Mount, it don't work on me..." she mumbles, but something about the look he gives her does make her reconsider, "...One walk around the grounds, and then I'm going home."

.

.

.

Bea looks at the setting sun and wonders how on earth Mountain managed to drag her through the entire day's events without her noticing; She wants to be mad, but it's hard to be when she actually had a good time, and now all that was left was the closing bonfire.

Technically, there was more they could do during and afterwards, but none of that appealed to her, and Mountain knew her social battery and tolerance for his company was beginning to wear thin.

It wasn't that she hated Mountain or disliked him in any real way, but they were often "too much" for each other.

Although on a surface level, that might warrant a deeper dive into their relationship as a whole, put plainly; If they were to allowed to spend more time together, something would wind up broken or on fire, and not because they were bickering, no, but because, in the way of true friendship, they'd simply choose to cause chaos.

A prime example of this was when, the night after the party for Litha, Bea had decided she didn't, in fact, want to carry a cumbersome, carved statue of a dick back to the abbey -she wasn't sure where it had come from, nor did she want to ask- and the two had put their heads together to figure out the worst place to put it.

A bit of back and forth later, and it'd ended up in the lake for the water ghouls to find come morning.

Though in that case, the dick must've found its way into some deeper crevice -and, oh, the jokes about penetration and sex they had made after that- and disappeared, because there'd been no real pay off to that one... Last year's Samhain celebration however...

Bea shakes her head as she watches Mountain wander away towards the party, walking over to Dewdrop -she's pretty sure it's him anyway, it's hard to tell since she's only met him a handful of times- who is stood by the fire with the rest of his pack, save for one; Rain is decidedly missing from the group, but it doesn't take long for her to find him... or more accurately for him to find her.

Long arms snake around her midsection, cold and clammy, sending a shiver down her spine as he lowers his chin down to rest upon her head.

"Mountain actually managed to drag you out of your cave, hm~?" he teases, and Bea, surprisingly even to herself, doesn't bite back or shake him off.

"He has a way of doing that, yeah..." she sighs, feeling the water ghoul sniff her hair, "Whatcha doin', huh?"

"Nothing." he says, "Stealing the warmth from your body."

Bea snorts.

They stand like this for a time, Rain wrapped around her like a cold, yet comforting blanket, until -like the company of a friend- it becomes too much.

"Go on then." she pats his hands, prompting him to release her, "Back to your friends, I'm sure they miss you."

Rain pauses to consider this before pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, her short hair tickling his nose, and heading off in the same direction Mountain had gone.

Alone once more, Bea looks between the warm light of the fire, and the distant, dim glow of her porchlight across the lake, before setting off into the dark of the night.

She's too tired to fully process that she hadn't left any of the lights on before she left that morning, and though a whisper in the back of her mind hints that, perhaps, something is off, she doesn't have the spoons left to care.

Arriving at the cottage, Bea kicks off her shoes, hearing them thump against the wooden siding, and pops open the screen door to reveal the dark interior of her home.

Flicking on the lights, she takes in the space; Nothing's out of place or missing, but small things... small things are different, and she can feel it the moment she crosses the threshold.

Someone's been in here.

The thought has her blinking, more awake than she'd been all day, but there's no sudden drop in her stomach or a cold wash of fear over her features at this realization.

No, it's a lighter feeling.

She looks at the sink, the dishes stacked up to the faucet for the last week now sat in the drying rack, the hamper of laundry she'd left on the kitchen table because she'd been too busy to fold it was missing, but easily found upon opening her dresser...

Somebody's... tidied her house?

Bea places her hands on her hips.

Occasionally, Mountain would clean up after her, despite her protests, because he didn't like the place becoming cluttered even if he didn't live there anymore, but he'd been with her all day...

"Surprise?" a voice from the doorway says, sounding a little unsure.

Bea turns, catching sight of Rain, who nervously wrings his hands together.

"You did this?"

He nods.

"Thank you, but why?" she asks, and the ghoul steps inside, head bowed slightly as he looks at her.

"You've been working really hard lately, so I thought I might... take away some of the weight?" he offers, but when Bea raises an eyebrow at him, he confesses easily enough, "I thought we might celebrate the holiday together, like... like last time."

The gardener frowns.

"I didn't do it just because I wanted to-" he begins to clarify, but is cut off by Bea, who pulls him down into a kiss, "O-Ohhh..."

"Don't care." she mumbles, "I appreciate the gesture, but, really, you didn't have to... could've just asked, you know I wouldn't turn you down."

"But you could." he says, "I don't know... maybe I want you to."

"To turn you down?" she questions, confused.

"It's... a strange feeling, Miss. Milne." he says, placing a hand on his chest, and suddenly Bea recognizes his game, "A man of the cloth, tempted by a woman such as yourself..."

Bea smirks.

"I see... You want to play that game?" she laughs, running her hands up his sides, "Yes or no?"

Rain shudders as her fingers brush against his gills through the fabric of his shirt, "...Yes..."

.

.

.

There is something to be said about these early fall days, how the mornings are cool as ice, but the afternoon sun reminds you that summer has only just left.

The nights are hot and humid, and in the close confines of the gardener's cottage, the air has never felt warmer.

Rain contemplates this change, buried deeply inside of Bea's body, the heavy rise and fall of her chest entrancing him as he compares the tan lines closer to her neck and shoulders to the paleness of her breasts.

He draws them together, thumb reverently over the softness of them, squeezing.

"Can I..." Bea sighs as Rain rolls his hips, "...ask you something?"

Rain hums, hands abandoning her chest as he lowers himself down on top of her, "Go right ahead."

"...Would you be sad if I left?"

And just like that, Rain feels the temperature drop.

"Are you... planning on leaving?" he asks in a faint whisper.

Bea runs a hand through his hair, playing with one of the many dark curls.

"Lately, I haven't been feeling like myself..." she says, "...I feel... different, and I can't quite place how or why."

Rain pulls back a little to look at her face from above, "...When you say leave-"

"The last time I spoke to Sister Imperator, before she... before she passed, I renewed my contract."

"Then you're staying?" Rain almost lets himself feel relieved, but quickly circles back, "You said..."

"...She said there's a chance, that when this is over, I won't..." she tries, but the ghoul is already lifting her up, the movement drawing them closer together, and for a moment they both groan before coming back to their senses, "...So I need to know... Will you be sad?"

Rain gives a stilted laugh, "You... you make it sound like you're dying, Beatrix, and I don't like it... So... So just tell me what's going on. Don't beat around the bush."

Bea looks up at him, honey brown eyes shining in the dull light of her bedroom, "...I was given a chance to become part of Copia's staff, permanently."

"That's... Bea, that's wonderful news, but why-"

"I have until the end of October to decide." she says, "After that, it'll be too late to change my mind."

Rain blinks.

"I still don't..." he swallows hard.

"She said it's possible I'll forget things, or I might... might not be the same person afterwards."

"...You didn't..." he frets, grabbing her arms, "You can't...!"

"Why not?" she asks, and, fuck, does Rain want to scream.

"Aren't you happy like this?" he questions, "In your cottage, comfortable and secure... Why would you risk losing that?"

"...Rain..." Bea trembles, tears starting to bead on her lashes, "...It's more of a risk not doing it. If I don't... I have to leave. So either way... either way, I could lose everything."

"You could stay!" Rain states firmly, "Papa -Frater- Fuck! He'd be reasonable and understand that you shouldn't have to do something like that just to stay here! It's bullshi-"

"...I already talked to him." she says, "He gave me other options, and I chose this... Sister offered it to me, and I asked Copia after she was gone if the offer still stood."

"...The end of October..." Rain feels his world spin just a little, "That's how long we have then..."

Bea rests her cheek on his shoulder.

"If I do forget or become someone else, you'll have to remind me."

"You'll remember." Rain says, "I won't let you forget."

"That might not be something either of us can con-OH!"

.

.

.

"So do I need to ask or are you just going to come out and say it?" Mountain asks when he sees Rain shuffling into the ghouls' den in the early hours of the morning the following day.

The ghoul offers him a tired stare before plopping himself down in the worn armchair Dew usually steals for himself first thing, "...Y'ever think, maybe, Bea's... not happy?"

Mountain pauses, looking towards his packmate, then sits down on the couch, the old springs groaning under his weight.

"I don't think..." he shakes his head, "People like Milne... no..."

"It's complicated." he settles on finally, "Milne came here to escape whatever life she left behind in the states, and now things are changing here, and she's getting itchy. Anxious."

"Anxious enough to leave?" Rain muses, "Or to forget..."

The earth ghoul closes his eyes.

"Humans are funny creatures."

"I don't think this is terribly funny, Mountain..." Rain trills nervously, "I don't think she realizes how serious this is-"

"And I think she does." Mountain counters, "If you think she doesn't, then perhaps you should get to know her beyond the curves of her body."

"I-"

"Milne is not stupid, foolish at times, but she knows full well what she's doing." the other rumbles, "...and would it be so bad?"

Rain furrows his brow.

"Maybe you should ask yourself why you're so worried about it..." Mountain says, "Milne joining the church."

"I'm more concerned about why you seem so calm and resigned to it happening." Rain argues, "She's your friend, and you seem okay with the idea of her possibly forgetting all about you!"

Mountain hums.

"I'm not." he smiles sadly, "Okay with it, that is. But..."

"Milne would make a remarkable ghoul."